


Rescuing the Senior

by Ydream08



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babies, Complete, F/M, Parenthood, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ydream08/pseuds/Ydream08
Summary: Tricked into holding what she'd thought was a broken time-turner, Hermione was sent back to 1926. She was stuck in time and lived in the Leaky. While struggling to build a new life, an odd couple caught her attention. No way could a man love such a woman so intensely, right? A simple answer: Love potion. Little did Hermione know that she was intervening to the newly-wed Riddles.





	1. Chapter 1

It was a rainy day. The old man seated at the dark corner of the small cafe took reluctant sips from his coffee, and listened closely to the rain as it poured outside. It beat a harsh rhythm on the roof of the old place.

He lowered his mug, not missing the flicker of light on his own skin. It made his hand translucent for a second, nearly causing the mug to slip from his ghostly fingers. He was lucky this time. He too often recalled the many times of even dropping his wand.

He wasn't sure how he had survived five years after his own death, or rather, his other persona's death, to be precise. He only recently understood the rules of time and dimensions. Although, he had spent more than a decade researching the topic ever since his mother's death. His own mother had been the catalyst of his interest.

She was an amazing witch, his mother, Mrs. Riddle. He still couldn't believe she had died at such a young age. Seventy-seven was hardly elderly age for an average witch, and Hermione Jean Riddle was anything but average.

He had lost her twenty-three years ago, on the nineteenth of September, in 1979. The formidable witch had spent her last day on earth organizing a mini-dueling tournament for her grandchildren. It was set to take place in their backyard at Little Hangleton. She had insisted that her grandchildren prove to her that they hadn't lost their fighting edge, most of them having graduated from Amoiencia School of Sorcery roughly five years ago.

As a witch, she had been strict with her children's education, especially Defense Against Dark Arts. Remembering his mother's obsession, he thought he could understand her preoccupation. If it weren't for her meddling, the second generation of Riddles wouldn't have been so ready for the Wizarding War, aiding Harry James Potter to victory.

Only after his mother's death had he understood that dimensions could collide.

Sighing, his wrinkled hands angrily wiped his face. His mother's time-traveling was exceptionally unbelievable. He understood it only on principle. Her reality so different from his own. She had spoken to him about what was to be; that in her own world there had been two wars. One before her birth, and the other during her teen years. When the time for the first war had passed and nothing had happened in his own youth, his mother had explained this situation.

The future-self he could have morphed into: Lord Voldemort.

That hadn't made sense back when he was a teen nor did it make sense when he grew to adulthood as a married wizard, and with two children. Up until his mother's death, he had always doubted her sanity. Her revelations had sparked his interest, that had been a given. So upon her death, he researched and researched and because of that research, he believed in the possibility of her scenario. Yet, aside from the allure of having had come so close to immortality, the story held no weight to him. There hadn't been any proof, his own wandering teen mind that had more than once thought of conquering the world couldn't be acknowledged as one. However, the day of Hermione Riddle's death, he had experienced that translucency for the first time, causing Tom Riddle to reconsider his conclusions...slightly.

Nothing had happened to anyone other than him. He was the one whose image flickered now and again. He was the one who read ' _Is Lord Voldemort Back?_ ' on the Quibbler instead of ' _Lucius Malfoy Asks for Muggle-borns' Exclusion from Hogwarts_!'. He was the only one from his family who had seen Dumbledore dueling a bald, snake-faced creature instead of the blond aristocratic heir to the Malfoy line during the attack on the Department of Mysteries.

On the burial day of their grandparents, Tom Riddle's brother and sister had never seen Harry Potter trapped on a tomb, watching a cauldron in fright as a rat-man completed a ritual for the rebirth of Lord Voldemort.

Tom could have sworn it wasn't just a coincidence that only  _he_ witnessed such distortions of reality. These unfamiliar scenes had began to occur frequently in Tom's life, and the vigilant wizard was quick to notice the pattern.

Whenever Tom Marvolo Riddle got closer to Harry Potter and the main events of those hypothetical Wizarding Wars, his own reality changed because his dimension collided with another. The one in which Lord Voldemort terrorized the Wizarding Britain. Distinguishing the two parallel worlds easily as his mother had talked about the original one in great detail, Tom had extended his interest in light reading of time travel and dimensions, so that after recording enough data, he could make an assertion about what was happening and how to fix it.

His research showed that it was possible for two dimensions to co-exist for a limited time however unstable they might be. As a result, different people would witness two totally separate worlds during that time interval. It has been 23 years in Tom's case. It had been mild changes at first, making Tom doubt himself and his research. However, the day on his grandparents' burial Tom had become sure of his deductions.

His speculative explanation to only him noticing this collision between the dimensions was that he was going to make the decision that would decide whichever would overshadow the other.

His wandering mind coming into focus, Tom Riddle left a few sickles on the table for the coffee. His eyes followed a curly haired witch rushing to the bookstore across the street.

This version of his mother from that foreign dimension wasn't so different from how Tom remembered her. In a moment of benevolence, Tom thought that perhaps he should have brought his siblings so that they could see their mother once more. However, even if they had come, they wouldn't be seeing this Hermione Granger who was to be a Riddle. They would see a young woman newly graduated form Hogwarts who looked eerily similar to Hermione Riddle. Practically a stranger who had no knowledge of whom the Riddle siblings were, only to have heard their family names from their association to Amoiencia School of Sorcery. His siblings would see a Hermione Granger blissfully ignorant of Lord Voldemort.

Dismissing the useless idea that was too much sentimental for Tom Riddle's taste, he kept his watch on the young witch. It was a shame that she wasn't using an Umbrella charm while running in the rain, her shoulder-length hair was definitely going to be a mess as it dried naturally. Just as it used to be every time she was too tired to dry her hair after bathing her three young children, ages varying from six to two. Tom knew that  _that_  was the only flawed planning his mother had done- being a mother of three in such a short span of time.

He smirked, his mother would have playfully smacked him hard on the head if she had heard that last thought. He couldn't help it though, seeing her this young and alive made him yearn for his mother as he remembered her from his youth.

He shrugged off the thoughts, and set his mind to the task at hand.

He was going to choose a future today. Either have Hermione Granger as his mother, or be killed as a madman in the hands of Harry Potter.

It wasn't a hard choice, but Tom knew if he did not act on it today, his reality as he knew it would disappear. Nobody would remember a single Riddle. Not Tom's brother, sister; not his children, his nephews and nieces; not himself.

Correction, he would be remembered alright, remembered as the psychopath, who killed half of Wizarding Britain in the delirious hopes of eradicating the world of Muggles, Muggle-born, and Half-Bloods.

A shiver went through his spine, but Tom shook it off and exited the cafe to hurriedly enter the bookstore.

Inside was dry and warm. The lighting was dim, mostly thanks to the bookcases covering the walls from ground to roof preventing any window from letting in the sunlight. Tom noted that the place could have been rather spacious if it weren't for the books piling on the floor every few steps. There were a few armchairs shoved into the empty spaces available, giving the bookstore an overall feel of chaos rather than being inviting.

The young woman behind the desk didn't mind, though.

Hermione had shed her outwear, opting to stay in her thick red jumper and jeans. Her wet curly hair was braided at the side, and she struggled to put a ribbon at the tip of it. Tom watched her soundlessly, she was so engrossed on the book open in front of her that she had even failed to notice his presence.

Finally, she was finished with her braid. Just when she leaned over the desk to solely concentrate on the book, Tom cleared his throat.

"Oh, I hadn't seen you there!" Hermione acknowledged him. "How may I help you, sir?"

Tom smiled, feeling lucky that she hadn't asked for his name. He doubted this version of her would be delighted to see her son, Tom Riddle.

He straightened his wavy hair, it was a habit he couldn't get rid of even at this age when his hair had thinned and greyed. He started to shed his own coat, and found his mother rushing to his aid and hanging his coat before he could say anything else. He had deduced from the armchairs spread around the place that this bookstore was open for people who wished to stay and read, but he was surprised that Hermione Granger was eager for company.

Then he remembered his old age of seventy-six, and realized that her helpful nature was due to respect and perhaps a bit of pity.

"Thank you, young lady," Tom said,and he couldn't help but smile at the irony of addressing his mother as such.

"No need to mention," Hermione said and looked at Tom expectantly.

"Well, I've been researching time-travelling for some time. A word reached me that this bookstore is a distinct site for collectors or curious researches such as myself," Tom told his tale. He noticed how his mother squared her shoulders in pride and her eyes sparkled with joy; Tom had realized at a young age that his mother was a sucker for well-deserved praise. It was the skill of the manipulator to judge the correct time to give such a praise, and what better word could describe Tom Marvolo Riddle?

"I have recently come across a rare time-turner and was wondering if there could be any parchment, diary, list, book, anything actually, that could point to its origins. Sadly, I believe it is broken and the research I conducted indicated that without proper knowledge of the specific device, it is impossible to fix it."

Hermione Granger was silent for a moment.  _Probably going through the inventory in her mind_ , Tom mused. It didn't take her five minutes before she sprinted in the direction of the bookcases and was lost behind the piles of books.

Tom smiled to himself and opted to sit at the chair his mother had vacated behind the desk. His eyes scanned through the book she had been reading. She was nearly finished with it, and it was pleasing to see that the book  _Will Against Magic: Fight or Surrender?_ was about the factor of will when it came to love potions and spells such as the Imperious Curse and Petrificus Totalus. This reading would prepare his mother in her quest to come.

Feeling the weight of the time-turner in his pocket, Tom straightened in the chair, wishing his mother to come by his side quicker and yield to her curiosity. He could sense her mind pondering over his words, wondering what kind of a time-turner he had in his possession and whether he was licensed to own one. That last thought Tom believed his mother to have was what made her Hermione Granger. If it weren't for her, he would be tempted to crush the rules instead of manipulating them to his will.

Then, Tom Marvolo Riddle couldn't have opened the second Wizarding school in Britain, Amoiencia School of Sorcery.

The sound of scrambling feet and the thud of books being dropped on the desk brought Tom's attention back to now. He raised his gaze to meet with the curious brown eyes of the woman in front of him.

He knew he had her even before the question tumbled out of her mouth.

"These are all the sources I've found. May I take a look at the time-turner while you look through them?" she asked. "I had one in my third year, I'll be careful."

Tom wasn't surprised that his mother hadn't noticed the anticipation and restlessness building up in him until she had asked that question. She could have seen a shadow of anxiety in the older man's dark gaze if she had known how to look, just like she used to know. In reality, Tom Riddle had been dying to hand over the time-turner to the young woman across from him.

His fumbling fingers grasped the metal of the small device, and to his utter relief, he handed over the time-turner to Hermione Granger, who accepted it eagerly. After finally achieving his goal of transferring the temperamental, magical device into her capable hands,Tom didn't even bother to stick to his scheme, dismissing the mountain of books his mother had brought without a single glance.

Hermione Granger was inspecting the golden ridges of the time-turner, her thorough gaze taking in the ancient runes carved on its body without overlooking the lively, but unusual green colour its sand possessed. Tom Riddle wondered how long it was going to take for her to realize that the time-turner in her delicate hands had once belonged to none other than great Salazar Slytherin.

To Tom Riddle's immense delight, the Chamber of Secrets housed many different rooms filled with interesting artifacts, making the place his favorite hide-out. Not to mention, it came in handy for situations like these.

Tom refocused on the face of his mother, carving her features into his memory, as he completed the final step of his ingenious plan.

With a flick of his hands, the action going unnoticed by Hermione Granger for a long few seconds, he cast a sticking charm and initiated the required turns of the artifact.

He watched as his mother's eyes opened wide in shock, but before she could raise her gaze to meet with his -he knew that she had realized she couldn't remove her hands to grasp her wand- she vanished out of sight.

Tom Riddle looked at his hands immediately for some kind of confirmation.

His flesh hadn't looked so palpable in the past twenty years. He sighed but soon after it turned into a joyous laugh.

He would have killed before losing Hermione Riddle neè Granger- his mother.

* * *

Hermione Granger hadn't known that waking up this rainy day would be a life-altering event. She had had her breakfast as usual -toast and coffee, nothing special- and then got ready to head for her bookstore.

After the war, she had wanted peace and quiet to get herself refreshed, and her dear friend, the new Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, had agreed to hold off the job offers for her in the Ministry. If she ever wished, her place in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was waiting for her.

Hiding herself within books had been her first option, that's why she had opened this bookstore. It wasn't like she hadn't considered going to Hogwarts to redo her seventh year and take her NEWTs, but she knew herself well. If she had done that, she would never come out of the library anyway, making her stay in Hogwarts quite meaningless.

Hermione had decided at last that she could easily take her NEWTs from outside and read to her heart's content in the meanwhile, securely hidden away in her introverted comfort zone afar from any one even loosely associated as being a friend.

Her little bookstore hadn't always been this crowded with books. The very first weeks of her opening, the bookstore only had the copies of Hogwarts curriculum and Hermione's books from her beaded bag, which were dearly held and well read. Even with that small of inventory, her bookstore had attracted attention. Only due to Hermione Granger, the War Heroine, being the owner of it. With a few Notice-Me-Not charms and threats to Rita Skeeter to not mention the bookstore every single day in her column, Hermione Granger had achieved the peace she was aiming for from the start.

Her bookstore ran on orders and she gladly collected the interesting books from all over the world herself to broaden her inventory. Her rare visitors were mostly her most loyal clients. On weekends, older Hogwarts students visited too, but the ones who came by were on recommendation from Madame Pince, and they opted to stay the whole day, curled up in one of the armchairs. Most of them were Ravenclaws, some Slytherins and Hufflepuffs being rare exceptions. Sadly, her own house had never made the trip to her bookstore, but then again, Hermione wasn't surprised.

Today was a Monday and as a result she wasn't expecting any students, or any visitors for that matter. That's why she hadn't realized that she wasn't alone right away.

The old man entering her bookstore was slim and tall. His hair was the darkest grey, once-black strands strongly resisting the natural order. His dark eyes shone with delight when she had addressed him. He was an unusual fellow, his tone so kind that she felt humbled and undeserving for his praises, although she took great content in hearing them. His research and time-turner were interesting as well.

Damn, him and his interests. That's what had brought her seventy-seven years in the past.

The familiar re-winding of time had morphed into a blur of colours and senseless noise in the blink of an eye, making Hermione realize immediately that it wasn't only a couple of hours that the time-turner was undoing.

She had found herself in a run-down storage room filled with dusty boxes of various sizes. Exiting her once-beautiful bookstore and stepping into Hogsmeade streets hadn't given her the greatest shock.

Going to Leaky Cauldron to book herself a room, then learning the date had given her a heart attack. Thirteenth of June, 1926.

Seventy-seven years. As a witch, her life span allowed her to live and catch up with her future self, however it would have been damn difficult to explain to Harry and Ron how she had gotten older so quickly. She had to find a way back, but before she even thought about that, she knew it was impossible. She had already read enough back in her third year to know that.

As despair seeped in from the cracks in her defense, she found herself drinking Butterbeer every night, going through any book related to time-travelling that she could find from her beaded bag, and cursing that old man who had given her the time-turner.

That only continued for a week before she got bored and decided to broaden her research, the Leaky Cauldron was becoming lively with the Hogwarts semester on the corner anyway. She could use the break.

Purchasing close to ten books for research later, Hermione went to an apothecary thinking that she could very well buy a hangover potion if she intended to get drunk at night. As a person staying just under a newly-wed couple, who was into loud sex, she needed her consciousness closed if she wanted to sleep in her room back at Leaky Cauldron.  _Really though_ , Hermione would have expected more discreet behaviour from people in 1920s.  _A Silencing charm worked wonders too._

When she exited the apothecary with her potions in her beaded bag - _thank Godric she was paranoid enough to deposit her savings and vault into her beaded bag after the war_ \- she was stopped by a shady witch, who sold various questionable potions on a cart.

The witch looked as though she was in her late forties, Hermione couldn't be sure as magical blood concealed the age well. The older witch wore scarlet robes, which was the first thing to grab passersby attention, aiding her somewhat with the sales.

She had just finished explaining the qualities of her potions to some other witch when she abruptly turned her attentions to Hermione, going into salesman mode.

"What a pretty witch you are! I have no doubt you attract many wizards, but is that sadness I see in your eyes? Is the wizard you fancy, not returning your affections? Let me help you! I have just the thing- love potions! I have every kind, from the faintest to the strongest- _Amortentia_! Here! Smell this one. This will make him fall for you at first sight!"

The witch pushed a vial in Hermione's face, urging her to drink or smell, Hermione couldn't be sure which.

She inhaled to smell the scents wafting from the potion, thinking that it would smell faintly of Ron. Although they had broken up two years ago, her love for him was undeniable. It had abated over the years, but if she was to smell anyone from a love potion it would be him. That was the trick to Amortentia as well- for people who didn't have any special someone, if the potion wasn't blended with the caster's blood or anything to draw the actual truth, he or she would smell of anyone whom they loosely associated with love, making them think they were in love with that false person.

That was why potion masters avoided brewing Amortentia  _for fun._

To Hermione's surprise, the vial the older witch offered for her didn't smell at all. It was like water.

"It doesn't smell," Hermione stated, her confusion and distrust colouring her tone. The older witch laughed at her openly, she was obviously amused with Hermione's reaction.

"Of course, you silly thing! And you call yourself a witch? How do you suppose you get to make your lover drink this if it smelled like any other witch?"

Hermione snorted. Thinking about how people were forced to do many things they didn't desire in the war, she answered without thinking, "Imperious?"

The older witch's eyes widened in shock only for a moment before she snickered in amusement.

"I love how you think, witch. Here, this potion is on me," the older witch gave Hermione a vial, not taking no for an answer. The witch said to Hermione, "Make him yours, sweetheart!" Then she shooed Hermione away.

Hermione Granger returned to Leaky Cauldron with the extra weight of the love potion. It was consolation that she could easily forget about it in the depths of her bag charmed with Undetectable Extension Charm, and that's what she did.

She got drunk that night, crawled in her bed and slept long before her tired and intoxicated brain could register the copulation sounds of her upstairs neighbours.

* * *

Over two months had passed since she visited the apothecary, and with the start of a new school year in Hogwarts, Hermione Granger had gotten the chance to converse with a young Albus Dumbledore.

She had owled him asking for academic consult and the young professor was eager to accept the witch's wish. It wasn't a long conversation as Hermione had only so many hypothetical questions to ask without raising suspicion on her person.

Deciding that it was time to move on and face the facts, Hermione Granger decided to build herself a life in 1926.

First of all, she couldn't live in the Leaky Cauldron, and she also needed a job. Having decided that, she didn't want to cause massive changes in the timeline, so Hermione dismissed the idea of getting a job in the Ministry, fighting for creature's rights. That's why buying herself a two-story house and using the first floor as a bookstore was a perfect idea that took care of her main two problems.

So in the end, her new life here wouldn't be that different from the life she lived in 2002.

The thing was that finding such a place was hard. She had no connections here, and wizards and witches in this time were weary of selling -or renting- their properties to an unknown witch. She had given up on finding such a place in Diagon Alley, but the more she widened her research, the more secluded her neighbourhood became. Being honest, Hermione Granger was bored with having no visitors in her bookstore even in her own time. If she was to go further away from the civilization this time, she wouldn't even have friends to meet up for dinner to make up for her loneliness.

As a result, one more month passed. Bob, the innkeeper of Leaky Cauldron, was content with Hermione staying as she was a steady and punctual income for him. He liked humoring her when she stayed up late, talking about one time-travelling theory or the other as the umpteenth Butterbeer the young woman had drunk went to her head.

This evening Hermione Granger had started early, she was drinking a firewhiskey mixed with pumpkin juice.

"...Knockturn Alley is a hell no, Bob. What I'm doing is an investment, and let me tell you what, that place's future looks  _dark_."

Bob snorted and patted Hermione on the forearm, deciding that he should bring her chips and cut her alcohol while she was too drunk to notice.

Hermione huffed when Bob turned his back, leaving her with no one to listen to her lack of luck at finding a place to move out. Her eyes wandered around the pub, getting bored as the seconds ticked by.

Her eyes landed on a table of four. Two women sat at one side and a happy couple sat across them. The witch with the boyfriend was explaining something animatedly to the witches seated across from her, a haughty air to her gestures was prominent. Her boyfriend couldn't keep his hands off of her as she talked. His one arm was secured in the witch's waist and the other rested where Hermione speculated was her thigh- Hermione didn't have the best vantage point to see from where she was seated at the stools next to the bar.

The man nuzzled the woman's neck, placing light kisses as he moved. Hermione thought she could hear his distinct baritone voice repeating various versions of "love you… the love of my life… haven't loved anyone but you…" as the man kept showering the woman with attention.

Hermione could tell that it wasn't healthy, the man's behavior. But, who was she to say something?

A tiny voice in the back of her mind quoted a line from the book she'd read about Imperious Curse, what was the name again, Will Against Magic?

_"_ _Even the strongest of wills would bow down against a powerful Imperious caster. Those who commit heinous crimes under such influence, might be pardoned, Azkaban leaving their concerns. Yet, the dispute on how to prove the truthfulness of Imperious claim still continues. Unlike the potion Amortentia which similarly robs the wizard off his will, there is no trace left after Imperious Curse. Blood magic, which reveal the presence of Amortentia is currently tried to be adapted to such curses however…"_

Hermione shook her head, wanting to block the overflow of recollection of the book. Those quotes made her recall the last day Hermione had spent in her old bookstore; she didn't want to remember. She couldn't handle remembering her old life. Not now.

She took a sip from her drink and the voice subsided.

For the next half an hour, she kept a sporadic conversation with Bob. He had too many visitors to attend to, so he couldn't drop his work and chat with Hermione. By the end of the half an hour, Hermione was sick of how much the middle-aged man worked, and offered him her help. That won her a big earthy laughter from the innkeeper, but when she gulped down a hangover potion from her bag and got control over her wits again, Bob didn't turn down her offer.

It was nearly one in the morning when the inn became silent again. Only people who paid for rooms stayed, and even they were receding to their rooms one by one. Hermione helped with cleaning too, so she stayed up until she, Bob, and that horny couple she had seen early in the evening remained. She had learned quite quickly that they were her upstairs neighbours. It wasn't a crime to love sex, but a silencing charm wasn't an advanced piece of magic.

Not to Hermione's surprise, the couple had switched to a darker corner of the pub during the course of the evening. Getting the chance to be alone, Hermione doubted the two had ordered anything else to drink or eat, as they wanted to be left to themselves.

Hermione raised her gaze from wiping up the dishes the Muggle way -which cleared her thoughts and gave her the peace she so yearned for- and took a look at the couple. To her surprise, the man sat all alone. His raven hair was tousled, predictably from his automatic hands going to his wavy mane every few minutes. She couldn't see much in the dim light, but his strong jaw and long legs were unmistakable even from this distance.

"-Didn't you hear me?" a voice snapped, ending Hermione's focus. She dropped her gaze, then realizing the woman was still talking to her, faced the witch behind the counter. "I want a glass of water, hurry."

Hermione automatically did as she was told, not having switched back from the waitress mode. She came to her wits just when she dropped the glass on the counter. Her brows marred, she took in the witch, who she now realized was the lover of the man seated across the room.

The woman was plain, her long dark hair not having the shine to it to even to conceal her unappealing features. Her nose was big and slightly to the right side of her face, effectively diverting attention from her squint eyes. She was taller than Hermione, but her lanky figure did little to praise her woman self, not that Hermione was able to get a proper look behind the counter.

Hermione had seen her lover from up close as she had served other tables. Looking over the witch in front of her again, Hermione didn't know what the man had seen in the witch in front of her to whisper her 'the love of my life'.

There was only so much love that would blind your perception, and having heard the older woman snap at Hermione, she didn't think the woman had a golden heart to make up for her lacking in the looks department.

The click of a lid opening brought Hermione out of her thoughts and she stared in half shock and half horror as the older witch poured the uncorked vial into the glass of water. As the woman left with a joyful smile on her face, everything fell neatly in place in Hermione's head.

_A love potion,_  her mind screamed. She didn't know what to do. Her fingers itched to grab her wand and hex the woman.  _This is wrong_!

Just as she turned around, she saw Bob shaking his head in defeat. "Don't, it's none of your business."

Hermione stared at the innkeeper, her mouth agape. She quickly casted a Muffliato around them and practically yelled, "How is this not my business?! It should be! The bitch is drugging him!"

Bob was definitely stunned to hear Hermione with her voice raised and her tone angry, but she didn't care. This whole thing reminded her of how Romilda Vane had mixed chocolate with a love potion before giving it to Harry, and indirectly ending up having Ron eat it.  _Ron had nearly died!_  Hermione's mind protested as her friend's near death experience was due to Malfoy trying to poison Dumbledore, but still, love potions left bitter memories with Hermione. Not to mention, being stripped down from your will was not the most pleasant thing in the world. Whatever she thought about Voldemort, she wouldn't have wished something like that even for him. And she wished Voldemort purgatory.

"That's not how you manage an inn, girl. You better close your eyes to some things," Bob countered Hermione, making Hermione see red.

"What? You knew of this?"

"It's been going ever since they've arrived, five months I think. Once in the morning and once before they go to bed. The witch never forgets."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Bob was letting this crime continue on his watch? How could he?

Hermione turned around, tempted the hex the woman into next Tuesday, but saw that the pub was empty.

"They went to their room," Bob informed her. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Leave it. Not your business."

Hermione dragged her feet to her room. Having had time to think over the occurrence, she could easily rationalize Bob's choice. But it didn't sit right with Hermione. It was as though she should sit at the side lines while Lord Voldemort killed Muggles and Muggle-borns, because she wasn't yet dead.

That was a false example, as Hermione had experienced too many near-death occurrences because of that lunatic, and the propaganda against Muggle-borns affected her directly as she was one herself. Nevertheless, she didn't like that she was impassive to the crime.

One week passed as Hermione's mind debated on whether or not she had a right to interfere. She didn't know the couple's situation. Merlin's sweet pants, she couldn't come up with a scenario in which the woman was doing the man a favor by drugging him! However, the problem was that it really wasn't Hermione's business.

It wasn't ethical or moral, what the witch had done, but…

It was eight more days later that Hermione realized that she was reluctant to act on this because she wasn't sure whether she wanted to shoulder the consequences of her actions. She was tired of shouldering other people's problems. Wasn't that why she had bought that bookstore and shied away to her own world?

However, it was an unchanging truth that Hermione Granger was not selfish.

Deciding that she was going to help the man, Hermione dropped by that shady older witch who owned a cart close to the apothecary. This time she paid the witch for consulting her, a well-rounded antidote she gave for most of the love potions and an advice of buying a Bezoar.

Hermione waited for a chance to catch the man alone the first two days. Seeing that the woman had no intention of ever letting go over her lover -seriously, wasn't she tired of all that attention? - Hermione decided to do something else.

Remembering her first reaction to the odourless love potion, she wasn't proud of her new found method, but went with it nevertheless.

An Imperious Curse and convincing the man he needed to take a leak later, Hermione locked the men's bathroom and silenced the place. She bound the man's body as well, not wanting him to escape or consort to violence when he realised she was about to release him of his oh-so-amazing-and-sacred love.

Up close the man made Hermione's mouth water. He was absolutely dashing. He had broad shoulders and at least a head over herself in height. Sirius Black and Lucius Malfoy could only compete for the second place if aristocratic features were the qualifications. His thick but long brows were furrowed as he looked to her under his eyelashes. With all due honesty, if you had such thick eyelashes who would need eyeliners? His thin but red lips were tightly closed, and as they stood soundlessly, she knew that his anger grew up a notch, but she couldn't help herself. His dark blue eyes were captivating and she couldn't form a sentence even if her life was on the line under his gaze.

"Umm," she finally managed to breathe out. "I'm Hermione and I'd like to help you."

He was silent for a moment. "Interesting experience, meeting you, Hermione. Would you  _help_  me go back to my wife?"

To say that Hermione was shocked to hear that the woman was his wife, was understatement.

But she didn't back down. If he still wanted her as his wife after the potion had lost its effect, she wouldn't stand in the way.

"Of-of course. I just wanted to help you… with your freedom, let's say?" Hermione offered and she fidgeted, knowing that his eyes were sending daggers at her. Hermione reached to her Imperious Curse. When she touched his mind, she ordered with a finality to her tone and much power behind her words, "Drink this vial and go back to your table. You won't drink anything your wife gives you and you won't mention our conversation here."

The man's face softened because of his surrender to the curse and Hermione gladly gave the vial to the man after releasing his body from the bind.

"Let's hope your system will rid of the potion quicker with this," Hermione murmured under her breath as he drank the vial. She knew he still needed a few more days to be back to normal, knowing that the woman had been feeding the man the love potion for far too long, not to mention regularly.

He gave her the vial back and exited the bathroom. Hermione followed him to the inside of the pub after a few minutes.

She helped Bob with the crowded pub again that night, and it was nice to see the black haired handsome man not salivating over that witch for a change.

She became even happier when she laid down on her bed in the small room of Leaky Cauldron, and didn't even hear the sound of someone snoring- or breathing as a matter of fact- coming from her upstairs neighbours. It was peacefully quiet again.

* * *

Hermione woke up to the sound of screaming and crying. It didn't take her long to realize the noise was coming from her upstairs neighbours. Just when Hermione had three nights of sober sleep, the couple had ruined it. Great.

She rose from her bed and casted a Tempus charm. Seeing that it was only two in the morning didn't sit well with Hermione. She had had an exhausting day of searching for a nice house for sale, to only come empty handed to the pub … _again_. She had helped Bob with his customers and had only fallen asleep at 1:30 A.M.

Half an hour of sleep made Hermione a zombie. She was used to these kinds of short naps so she was never cranky even if she had had a short sleep, however that didn't mean she had to be cheery either.

Distinguishing a male screaming and a loud thud following, Hermione shot to her feet. There was an eerie silence.  _Had he hit her...?_ Hermione heard frantic footsteps not soon after and realized one of the occupants of the room was leaving.

She rushed to open her door and just as she did, the man whom she had released from the clutches of the love potion passed by. He made an abrupt stop when he realized Hermione's sudden motion, and he stared at her face long and hard.

That short moment felt like years and Hermione's heart squeezed with such force that she couldn't breathe to save her life.

As recognition and relief shone through the man's blue eyes behind his furious gaze, another set of steps slumbered down the stairs, a loud and desperate weep accompanying it: "TOM! Don't leave us!"

The words didn't register in Hermione's mind; not until the man- Tom she had just learned- switched his gaze to meet with his wife. Hermione's gaze fell on the woman, she noticed that she was holding her stomach protectively.  _Don't tell me..._

"You bewitched me, you vile woman!" Tom sneered at the woman on the floor. She had dropped on her knees in front of him, desperately grasping the fabric of Tom's trousers.

"Please, my love. Don't leave! If not for your love for me- for your unborn son!" The woman was crying so hard that Hermione had to think harder at what she was saying instead of feeling sorry for her heart-wrenching sobs.  _Unborn son? She is pregnant! How didn't I notice..?_

Hermione gasped.  _She is pregnant...and he is leaving her?!_

"Don't touch me, freak!" Tom shoved the woman aside, taking a step back. "As if I would touch you if it weren't for your love spells! A tramp such as yourself doesn't deserve anyone, let alone me. Poisoning me for my affections… I don't want anything to do with a filthy whore, and I have no son or child! "

Before Hermione was aware of what was happening, Tom grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the corridor. Seeing her beloved with another woman, Merope Riddle neè Gaunt was blinded with rage, enough to draw her wand. Hermione Granger's war reflexes were sharp, so even before she saw the woman casting a spell, she had her shields up- yet, the blow never came.

* * *

Merope Gaunt cried and swung her wand desperately, but no spark came out of it to help her prevent the escape of her loved one. She was alone again. Alone and unloved. She called after her lover many times, but in the end all she could do was cry, cry and cry.

* * *

Hermione had learned in the many days they were on the run to watch out for her steps. However, those days no one was dragging her around with so much force and anger.

"...Fuck, that bitch! Ruining my life…" Hermione heard a few words now and then shooting form Tom's mouth, but her mind still remained with the woman left behind, crying in despair. "...of course, those Gaunt freaks screwed my life. I told many times to my Father to buy their little run-down cottage and shoo them out. Father likes to say he pities those retards! If they were gone, what else was there left to talk about to those families who visited our town, witness to our wealth first hand! Father never learned those sods' new money is trash, why impress them if they are to be bankrupt the next day, become even poorer than those Gaunts! We should have kicked that freak family out of our village without second thoughts, built a horse shed in that cottage's place and found a new entertainment…"

Hermione registered his words and three words which were never meant to be used in the same sentence came to her mind: Love potion… Riddle… Son….

_Oh, sweet Merlin_!

The man who dragged her… Tom… Could it be possible that Hermione Jean Granger, the War Heroine, had just been the catalyst for Tom Riddle Sr. leaving Merope Gaunt?

This was eventually going to lead Tom Marvolo Riddle being raised in a Muggle orphanage, turning him into the mass-murderer Lord Voldemort when he grew up.

Hermione panicked. All the faces of those they had lost coming to the front of her mind, accusing her of the creation of Lord Voldemort. She wanted to yell at them, say that she wasn't the one giving birth to him, nor was she going to be the one to terrorize him into hating Muggles and Muggle-born alike.

The first was Merope's responsibility and the latter was Mrs. Cole's from the Wool's Orphanage.

And where was Tom Marvolo Riddle going to end up and thanks to whom?

If Hermione had minded her own business just like Bob had asked, she wouldn't have caused this mess.

She was screwing the timeline.

On the second thought, Hermione was righting the timeline- and that scared her even more.

"...Hey, do you hear me?" a voice snapped at her. She winced at the volume, but when she felt two hands gripping her shoulders, she felt somewhat secured. She wasn't going to black out and fall on the ground thanks to the person holding her… thanks to Tom Riddle Sr.

Fuck.

"Yes. Sorry, I… I didn't know she was pregnant. I shouldn't have intervened-" Hermione was going to cry, Merlin, she seriously was going to cry. She felt the tears dropping one by one, but she didn't feel the hysterics Merope had shown.  _Yet_.

What had she done?

"Shh… You saved me from her- that freak," a soothing voice said, even though the last term was said in disgust. Hermione raised her gaze at the feeling of thumbs brushing away her tears. "And she is lying about her pregnancy…"

Hermione stopped at her thoughts. Tom Riddle's voice had turned into a hypnotic tune, his gaze was locked at something far away. "No, she is not pregnant."

Hermione realized that he was tricking himself into believingthat lie. Even though she knew that he was lying, she wanted to be sure that he was aware of his denial. She silently dipped into his mind, and scenes of the two lovers tangled in the bed, naked, came into her vision. At a few of them Tom caressed the bump on the woman's stomach, then Merope kissed Tom while resting her own hand on top of his where it lay on her stomach.

Hermione went out of his mind as gently as she had entered.

She knew that the damage was done.

Tom Riddle was going to be born and he was going to live a life deprived of love- the man in front of her was incapable of giving love to a child associated with a woman he loathed with passion.

_...was there no other way?_

Hermione angrily wiped her tears, hating the feeling of helplessness. She was sure to find a solution to this mess in the morning, but right now she would do what was possible. Riddle needed to go back to his house, having nothing left to do here. Hermione could do that, take him home, and perhaps convince him to take in Riddle Jr.?

Making a decision, Hermione took a hold of Tom's arm. His eyes turned to her questioningly at the touch, but before he could utter a word to her, they Disapparated.

* * *

Hermione shivered when the wind licked every inch of her exposed flesh- she definitely should have changed out of her pajama shorts and camisole.

Tom Riddle Sr. must not be agreeing with her if the way he devoured her appearance was any indication.

Hermione took a few steps back and averted her gaze. She was uncomfortable how he showed no indication of discomfort due to Disapparating. She cleared her throat but Tom Riddle Sr. was quicker.

"It's not my first time doing this-this teleporting," he said. There was a content smile on his face, Hermione wondered whether it was due to guessing her thoughts. She furrowed her brows, and to her great surprise, Tom Riddle Sr. snickered, then continued. "Nothing is my first time. There is so little money can't buy."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She couldn't help but wonder whether Sirius Black was the only male she knew of who was not this much of a pompous git regardless of his money status being 'shitting gold'.

"You will be a father for the first time- to your first son," Hermione retorted and saw a flash of anger in his gaze, but she didn't back down.

He took a step closer to her. He was so close that she could feel warmth of his body easing the goose bumps on her skin due to the cold wind.

"You will not be the first woman in my bed-" he said warningly, seeming content with his comeback. Hermione wanted to laugh that he thought that  _that_  was a comeback, let alone a threat.

"I think we covered that when I mentioned a child you helped to create-"

"-and not the last," he finished and a smirk graced his lips. His fingers moved to play with her curls but Hermione quickly slapped his hand away.

"Be creative with your threats, and realistic please. More after me? Not the best joke I've heard," Hermione snarled, feeling the sting of Ron's affairs flare at Riddle's bold statement. How vulgar was this man? His intentions sick and sense of humour even worse! This conversation was over. "This is your back garden, if you've noticed. Little Hangleton."

Hermione turned around and put a safe distance between herself and Riddle Sr.

"Are you sure of not claiming your son?" Hermione asked one last time, and when she turned back to Riddle, she saw his gaze was locked with the dark figure of his own house.

"The bitch tricked me…" he spat.

"That is not the child's fault," Hermione insisted. She wished to change Riddle Sr.'s mind because she knew the alternative if she wasn't able to do it.

"I'm not going to be disowned just because of a whore's kid-"

"-your kid!" Hermione yelled this time. She couldn't stand the man insulting an unborn child.

He still didn't turn around to face her.

"You are like her, aren't you?" Riddle Sr. asked, ever slightly angling his head in her direction.

"Yes, I'm a witch and your son will be a wizard," she said. "You wouldn't want to leave him by himself."

_Because if you do, he'll turn out to be Voldemort_ , Hermione ended her thought.

"Your pretty body wouldn't be enough to convince me," Riddle Sr. finally said and laughed before adding, "Even if you were to offer, angel."

What did he call her? Angel? Hermione was furious, not to mention she felt the bile rising from her stomach. She shouldn't have hoped this disgusting man to own up his mistakes.

_Was it_ **his** _mistake that he was too handsome for Merope Gaunt to skip the chance to get in his trousers by a love potion?_  a treacherous voice in her mind played the devil's advocate.

Knowing that Riddle Sr. wouldn't be disclosing the existence of the magical world, Hermione didn't bother to tamper with his memories.

Hermione Granger Disapparated with only one question remaining in her overthinking mind: Was she going to visit Merope Gaunt now or the day Tom Riddle's birth?

She didn't hear when the words tumbled out of Riddle Sr.'s mouth.

"You are my angel, saving me from…Thank you. I was disgusted…thank you…You saved me, angel."


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione decided to hunt down Merope Gaunt-literally.

The woman was the key to Tom Riddle a.k.a. Lord Voldemort's life. If she had been able get herself back together for her kid, her son Tom wouldn't have experienced life the cruelest way without a mother to fall back to.

That's why Hermione was shocked to find her gone in Leaky Cauldron. Hermione felt confusion on top of shock when she couldn't find Merope Gaunt in her old wreck of a house, Gaunt Cottage. Thus she decided to hunt her down. In the morning.

Definitely in the morning.

She slept till six, and with the first lights of the day she went to ward the Gaunt Cottage to inform her of any intruder. She had thought of doing the same to Leaky Cauldron, but since she didn't know a way to specify the ward to Merope Gaunt, she dismissed the idiotic idea.

Afterwards she cleared the Diagon and Knockturn Alley as well as Hogsmeade thrice, asking around all innkeepers whether they'd seen the Lady Gaunt. Hermione thought being thorough was the best policy, so when the afternoon came, her seventh round of magical centers around Britain had just finished. She couldn't dismiss the grumble of her stomach at that point and took a break to eat something. When she was full, she continued with her hunt, but any locating spell she had known needed personal belongings of the target.

When she returned to Leaky Cauldron to go over Merope's belongings, it was already night and Hermione desperately needed sleep. She learned from Bob that he had removed Merope's belongings, and took her suitcase in her own room for inspection.

She fell asleep before she could go through them.

The next day, with the help of Merope's handkerchief, she was able to cast an adequate tracking spell. For two weeks she followed the tracking charm, most of the time feeling as though she was going in circles, not picking up any concrete trace.

At the beginning of November, Hermione's leads pointed at the Muggle London and she broadened her research toward that area. She had two months left searching for a heavily pregnant and unstable woman, she knew the clock was ticking for Merope Gaunt to be found healthy, but Hermione couldn't think of anything else. It was damn hard to search for Merope because her tracking spells became useless thanks to the increased use of electronics in Muggle London.

Mid-November Hermione was close to giving up, so instead of searching Merope, she decided to locate the Wool's Orphanage. If she couldn't find her during the research, she was going to find the witch at the finish line.

It was still early to leave the timeline to screw itself.

She hated that Mrs. Cole from just observing her from far away. She was a hideous and violent woman, spending most of her time scolding the kids. Three hours in her observation, the woman had even hit two of them. Wool's Orphanage was not a place she wished any children to grow up in.

She turned away from the place and continued her search for Merope.

One week went by with Hermione's head turning at the sight of every tall and brown haired pregnant woman. She had even stopped a few of them, locking with gazes that doubted her sanity. What woman would go stop strangers at random, right?

Losing hope with every passing day, Hermione had to come up with a back-up plan. Her detail-versed mind was not comfortable with relying on the arrival of a sick and selfish woman; Hermione had grown doubts that Merope could bring up Tom Riddle. That aside, there was also the risk that even if Hermione were to catch the woman in the orphanage, she might not be able to save her. Hermione knew that Merope Gaunt had died during labor, and Hermione Granger was no Healer or doctor to save her.

Thinking this through, Hermione packed newly-bought baby care books in her beaded bag and spent the remaining days till the 31st of December studying them. The last one titled, "Advanced Potions for Mothers" was the most interesting one. It contained several potions that ensured the good health of a mother who recently gave birth. There were specialized potions and salves that eased the postpartum pains, a kind of Pepper-Up potion that was not harmful for the mother's milk, and even lactation-inducing potions to those mothers who were struggling to breastfeed their babies either because there was no production of milk or the secretion of it was strained because the stress after birth.

Hermione brewed enough of each potion just in case. It could help Merope, she thought. And the potion that triggered lactation could be beneficial in the worst case scenario in which Merope Gaunt perished.

The last week of December, Hermione stood by the entrance of the Wool's Orphanage. She would cast a warming charm and a notice-me-not, then sit down on the pavement, waiting for Merope to stumble to the orphanage. She would think relentlessly why she had failed to find a pregnant woman. She was the brightest witch of her age and her target was not only pregnant, but basically unstable to use any magic.

Putting herself in Merope's shoes, Hermione would have taken shelter in some Muggle's house whom she would have given a love potion to.

That would explain how Hermione failed her research in the streets to take notice of a woman who didn't get out of her safe Muggle house.

But why would she ever come and give birth in Wool's Cottage if that were the case?

Perhaps she had ran out of potions by December?

Regardless, on thirty first of December, Hermione's eyes found a tall but visibly pregnant woman limping to the front of the orphanage. It was a blur how the birth took place. Hermione remembered unlocking the door of the place, helping Merope lie down to a bed Hermione had removed the occupant of a few seconds earlier, then she urged the woman to push. Push till the baby came out.

Hermione had forgotten to silence the room and ask the occupants to leave, that's why when the whole place was bloodied and little Tom Marvolo Riddle was in her hands, she was unable to cast any spells to save Merope Gaunt.

After naming her baby, Merope latched onto Hermione's arm and asked her take him. "I, Merope Gaunt, hereby declare Hermione…"

"Hermione Jean Granger," Hermione said, having a feeling where this was going.

"...Hermione Jean Granger, the godmother to my child Tom Marvolo Riddle. Vow to have him! Protect him till your last breath. He will be just like his father, handsome and perfect! Aid him to be perfect! Vow!"

That moment, gazing into a dying –albeit a hysterical- mother's eyes, Hermione prayed from her head a million times for Tom Riddle to not turn into Lord Voldemort. Taking this Vow would complicate things, if that transformation was inevitable.

"I, Hermione Jean Granger, Vow to protect Tom Marvolo Riddle, my godson, with my life till my dying breath."

Hermione felt the bond seal between the baby and herself. Merope smiled, satisfied knowing that her son was going to grow up to be just like his father.

"I hope he will look just like his father, growing into the most handsome wizard alive," Merope whispered. Hermione saw her lids closing, but she shook the woman nevertheless. Tom needed his mother. Why was she so easily giving up on her life? Yes, Merope had given the responsibility of her son to Hermione; but wasn't the curly haired witch the reason the dead woman had lost her husband?

Had she even trusted Hermione with Tom's safety? Or had she just gotten rid of him? The last thing to bind her to the earth…

Hermione Granger would never know the answers to her questions.

* * *

Merope Gaunt had lost whatever little she ever had. She'd never had a loving and caring family. She never had a loving husband. She never had a loyal friend. She had had only a son, someone to unconditionally love her, but their union took only a minute, before she gave up on him for the sake of everything she had never had, but she had always wished to have.

* * *

After Tom Riddle's birth, Hermione confounded the matron of the orphanage to order all the kids back to sleep. When that was done, she Obliviated Mrs. Cole and once the last traces of them was vanished from the Wool's Orphanage, Hermione Apparated the three of them to the Gaunt Cottage.

She would need to go back there to be sure that everybody had forgotten of their short visit.

Stepping in the grounds of the old cottage, Hermione prioritized taking care of Tom and started with airing out one of the bedrooms in the cottage.

A few cleaning charms and half an hour later in which she bathed little Tom, Hermione found herself rocking the baby. His little mouth opened and closed; apparently he was hungry and looking for a breast. Hermione had hesitated at first. Sure, she's read the procedure and knew that breastfeeding was best for the baby, but the thing was that she was not really his mother. She was not even a mother actually; she wouldn't have any milk. There were instances in the Muggle world in which a mother could breastfeed someone else's baby; that, Hermione believed, was natural. However, this situation was...

Hermione shook her head. There was a potion to remedy this problem, and if she were to drink it, within fifteen minutes, she would be able to feed baby Tom.

Looking at him, watching him whimper and search with his little pink tongue for anything to ease his hunger, Hermione caved in. He was so small, and helpless! He depended on her, and it wasn't anything like how Ronald always sought for Hermione to copy her homework. This was... This was something else. This little creature in her arms, heart beating and breathing, sought for her and needed her in no way that he would need anyone else in his life.

Hermione would do her best to care of him. If he wanted her -needed her- Hermione would give him anything and everything she was capable of. She would give baby Tom the best- she would give him the world.

Wiping away a tear that trickled down her cheek, Hermione giggled at her fast change of heart. Oh, Merlin! It was baby Tom's scent; it was his wriggling hands and small nose; it was his pretty mouth and tightly shut eyes. It was him who made her this high above the clouds.

Accio'ing the lactation potion, Hermione drank it and waited for it to take effect. Noting in her mind to brew more of this later, she hopped up and down with baby Tom, and with a little patience, she felt her breasts gradually swell and ache. They were getting sensitive and heavy. Freeing her left breast from her shirt, Hermione squeezed it slightly to see if any milk would come out. She looked in amazement as white liquid pooled at the tip before dropping on baby Tom.  _Magic,_  she thought as she noticed Tom awakening because of the milk that had moistened his lips.

Taking a seat, Hermione decided it was time to feed baby Tom, but surprisingly she couldn't think of what to do.  _What now?_  she kept asking herself but she knew that her halt was more because of the fact that she was really going to do this, rather than not knowing what to do.

Baby Tom's wail brought Hermione out of her daze, and she guided her nipple inside Tom's mouth. For a moment, in which Hermione waited for Tom to suck, Hermione was anxious.  _What will it feel like? Will he like its taste, or will he hate it? What do I do if he doesn't drink? How am I supposed to feed him?_  It was late night, how was she going to find a doctor at this hour?

She could floo to Australia. If it was night here, surely it would be morning there. At least noon.

Her musings stopped when she felt Tom's lips on her nipple leave after a touch that resembled a touch mosquito. Hermione furrowed her brows and tried putting her nipple inside his mouth again. This time it stayed there longer, and she was positive some of the milk dropped in his mouth, but her nipple popped out of his mouth soon after.

Not forcing it this time, Hermione realized that baby Tom was actually asleep. He slept and woke up in ten minutes of intervals and Hermione stayed awake, watching him, for those times he was up to suck her breast. A few hours were spent like this, but Hermione found herself not complaining. A content smile had formed on her face as soon as she had figured out the situation. It felt relieving that there was nothing wrong. Her baby was just tired.  _And so little._

Knowing that she had business to take care of, Hermione transfigured one of the armchairs in the room into a cradle, putting Tom in there for a soundless sleep. She put wards on the cradle, for both protection and alarm if he were to awake.

After she cleaned the bedroom for the two of them to reside in, Hermione went back to bury Merope's body, finding a place for her in the family graveyard at the far end of their property. She was now amongst her long dead ancestors; Hermione hoped it wasn't as lonely as when the witch was alive.

With that job done, Hermione went inside the cottage. She passed two hours watching a fast asleep baby Tom, singing him soft lullabies whilst she caressed his small cheeks. He actually awoke now then and Hermione breastfed him, not leaving him unattended. One more hour passed in silence, and Hermione found herself trying to come up with a plan.

Merope was dead so she wasn't a parent candidate anymore. Tom Riddle Sr. was as good as trash when it came to being a parent, he hadn't wanted to be one from the start so Hermione couldn't justify forcing this on him either. Thinking about Tom's uncle and grandfather as an alternative guardian was nothing but insane. None were present at the moment in the cottage, but even if they were, Hermione doubted their madness levels would allow them to raise a healthy child.

Since Hermione hadn't signed up for this at all while saving Riddle Sr., she felt at loss. She couldn't just leave baby Voldemort to his own devices, she wouldn't. Not now when baby Tom and her had... a bond. She breastfed him, for Godric's sake! He was now hers; she wouldn't hear otherwise.

Perhaps she could alter the time line for better? Hermione was indeed going to try.

In the end little Tom only had his godmother who would be his mother as well from today on.

Hermione couldn't feel sorry for him, as he was lucky to have the brightest witch of her age, a War heroine and a dragon rider as his mother. He was in safe hands.

But they couldn't stay in the Gaunt Cottage forever, which was the first and foremost problem she had on her hands.

Tom's relatives wouldn't want a half-blood taken cared by a Muggle-born in their oh-so-sacred-and-ancient pureblood house.

Hermione tried to recall whatever she remembered of the Gaunt family, and how Merope had managed to elope with Riddle Sr..

Thinking hard for fifteen minutes bared fruit, and Hermione remembered that the two male heirs to the Gaunt line had been sent to Azkaban, one of them because he had endangered the Statute of Secrecy by cursing Riddle Sr. with hives. If her memory was right, that had been Morfin Gaunt.

If they were still in prison, transferring over the property to a Gaunt heir would be a piece of cake. He wasn't of age, so that could pose a threat, but even in that scenario, Hermione could convince the Wizengamot that he should stay in his ancestral home until the Gaunts were released.

Some thinking later, Hermione decided it was to no advantage to inform Wizengamot of this situation. She would live in the cottage till the Gaunts arrived, then she would continue to live here after getting rid of them. The cottage was Riddle's right anyway.

There was a little part of her that wanted to stay in this cottage and return it to its former glory that would have honoured the once great Salazar Slytherin- although he was a bigoted arsehole.

The Malfoys were bigoted arseholes as well, but they got to live in magnificent manors, so what was the fault in Gaunts deserving a nice mansion as well? Young Tom Riddle deserving a nice mansion?

Hermione slept with those thoughts lingering in her mind, and in her dream she saw Tom Riddle Sr. crying over not having bought the cottage to turn it into a horse shed while the cottage was restored to its former glory.

When Hermione woke up, she knew that that little part of her which wanted to keep the cottage, also wanted to see Tom Sr. suck up every insult he'd said. He might have been the victim of Merope's love potions, but his attitude was no where decent towards even her.

Humming with joy that she had her feelings and plans figured out, she did her best to bury her doubts about whether she was indeed accomplishing to change the timeline. Could Tom Riddle Jr. be prevented from turning into Lord Voldemort with only her help? Was she that capable of a witch?

She had prevented Buckbeak's death in her third year, but changing Tom Riddle's personality was a whole different thing!

Hermione continued to introducing herself to Tom, she knew that he wasn't understanding any of it, but it was better than hopping around with him in her arms.

"Yes, you pretty little thing. Your godmother is amazing, do you know her? Her name is Hermione Granger. Her-my-O-ne! Don't be like uncle Viktor and pronounce it funny. What, you want to know who is uncle Viktor? Well, he is the handsome and kind boy who had asked your godmother to dance in her fourth year in Hogwarts. You will go to Hogwarts when you grow up too, it is an amazing castle…"

That day Hermione Granger realized that she failed to lecture little babies, but instead she jumped from topic to topic while making goo-goo eyes at the little Tom in her arms.

When she decided it was time to start the day, she put little Tom in his cradle and warded it before heading to Wool's Orphanage.

A few Obliviates later, the whole orphanage thought that last night one of the kids had fallen down and that was what the commotion was about.

It was ten in the morning when she went back to Little Hangleton. She checked whether Tom was fine, he looked asleep so she thought better than picking up and playing with him.

Next, the Gaunt's Cottage required cleaning, so Hermione desperately wished they had house elves- she couldn't manage to clean this ruin on her own.

"Can any of the Gaunt's elves come here on behalf of Tom Marvolo Riddle?" she called into the emptiness. Five minutes passed and there was nothing. Just when she headed to kitchen and cast the first few cleaning spells, an elf appeared with a pop.

"Misses ask for Silky?" Hermione gasped in shock and the mug in her hand fell to the ground, breaking into million pieces. Hermione did a silent Reparo, then smiled to the elf. It was a tiny skinny thing. It had big ears and a pointy nose. Its green eyes sparkled with fear, and seeing that broke Hermione's heart. What it was wearing was nowhere close to a 'silk' either.

"Yes," Hermione managed to say at last. "You don't need to be afraid. Please, would you like to sit down so we can talk?"

Silky played with the hem of its clothes, hesitant to sit down.

"You don't need to if you don't want to," Hermione added quickly. For someone who had started S.P.E.W. Hermione didn't always know how to act around new elves. "I'm Hermione Granger, the Godmother of Tom Marvolo Riddle. He is Merope Gaunt's child. I brought him here to take care of him, but I need help to make this cottage a homey place. Would you help me? Are there any other elves that could help us?"

Silky looked around the room, then with a pop, it vanished. Hermione didn't know what to do or why it left.

Soon, it appeared again. Only when it spoke, had Hermione's confusion resolved.

"Young master Tom is asleep. He is mistress' son! Silky is the only elf but she wants to take care of him, but Silky swore she would never come here if Master Marvolo lived here. Master Marvolo is a bad master, he beat young mistress when she was a toddler. He doesn't like Silky either, yelling at Silky all the time! Silky always wished he would disappear, and when he did, Silky was so happy-" Silky stopped abruptly and looked terrified. Her little head turned around every which way, grabbing her ears to cover her mouth with them. "-Silky shouldn't have said that! Silky should punish herself!"

"No, NO!" Hermione yelled. "Silky don't! Master Tom wouldn't want you to harm yourself; he needs you to take care of him."

Hermione's voice stopped Silky form hitting herself with a rolling pin. She reluctantly put it down and stared at Hermione with teary eyes.

"Say Silky, let's divide the responsibilities. May I leave Tom to your care while I'm gone outside to buy groceries for the house? He is asleep so you can clean the kitchen in the meantime."

Silky smiled and nodded. "Does Ms. Granger has money to buy food?"

Hermione grimaced at the question. She didn't want to imagine what kind of living conditions the Gaunts used to live in, but she had a rough idea. If the money in her beaded bag had anything to say about this, that would change.

"Yes. This Ms. Granger has a small fortune with her," Hermione said and winked. Silky shrieked in joy.

"Does she? Ms. Granger wished for more elves? Silky could bring her family if Ms. Granger can take care of them?"

"Please bring them; I could use any help I can get!"

With that said, Hermione went to Little Hangleton's square, making sure that Silky would reach her if Tom awoke in distress or hungry. She bought groceries enough for a week, and asked the shopkeeper whether they could send her purchases to her house.

"You're staying in the Gaunt's Cottage? Lady, if you pardon my inquiry, what are you to the Gaunts?" asked the shopkeeper. He was already paid for the groceries -and any debts the Gaunts had for him- so he was more curious who this rich lady was specifically.

"I'm a close friend of Merope," Hermione started to say but added on second thought, "Also a distant cousin from her mother's side. I came to visit her, but found out that she has recently passed away."

The shopkeeper didn't question further, he passed his condolences then promised Hermione that her order would be delivered within two hours.

Learning that she had two more hours, Hermione wandered in the little village. She came across a sweet pastry and couldn't help herself from buying a chocolate cake. She hadn't yet celebrated little Tom's birthday and this was a great chance.

The cold eventually overcame her warming charm and Hermione Disapparated to the cottage. The groceries were nowhere to be seen, so she went to check on Silky. Turns out, she and three more elves had already put the groceries away and cooked the meal. One of them named Olly, had little Tom in its arms and played with him. Tom's new-opened eyes stared at the elf in wonder and his small mouth opened and closed, failing to form words even though Hermione noticed he was desperate to talk.

She giggled at the sight, and met with the new elves in the house. Silky had brought her cousins: Rity, Fony, Olly. They were apparently free elves looking for a family to bind themselves. Silky explained how the bonding ceremony worked, and within ten minutes the three elves belonged with the Granger family. It was an odd feeling for Hermione Granger, but she needed help with bringing up Tom and sharing her magical core with the elves had visibly pleased them and gave them a healthier look.

Three months passed, and every time Hermione dropped by the village, the rumors about her flared. The fact that the cottage had become more presentable was noticed too. As a result, her arrival to the village was all that the people here could talk about.

Hermione had even hired two gardeners to help her out with the yard. It was late March and the winter slowly disappeared, thus she could use the help in the gardens. As she played with Tom and looked after him, Silky and Olly managed the kitchen, Olly occasionally helping Hermione with Tom. Fony and Rity took care of the house and Rity was happy to polish any family heirlooms she came across.

Late-April, one of the gardeners came in the house without notice and the sound of a baby crying gave him the hottest gossip material of the village. Hermione knew the man was not the gossiping type, but it didn't mean his relatives back at his house couldn't rip the information out of him about the mysterious rich lady who had invaded the Gaunt's run-down cottage.

It didn't take long for her to be asked questions about the baby when she came down to the village. Hermione didn't know how to introduce him. If she shared his full name, there would be complications with the Riddle family and Hermione seriously didn't want that.

Some days she wondered why she hadn't bought a brand new home far away from the Gaunts and the Riddles, so that she and Tom would live peacefully.

It was one warm May noon when she and Tom sat at their lovely garden that she bombarded her over-thinking mind with those questions once again. It wasn't late; she could take Tom and the elves and move out to someplace else. But that day, she got herself an answer.

Seeing one Tom Riddle Sr. riding a horse in their yard made her realize that deep down Hermione wanted to leave his son to him, and get the hell out of here.

Not minding her own business had caused Hermione to be a mother at the age of twenty-three to the most notorious wizard in the future. This was the biggest example of shouldering other people's responsibilities, thus making herself miserable.

Actually, she loved young Tom. This didn't change the fact that taking care of him was immense responsibility, but without her growing attachment to the boy, she wouldn't have been so willing to be there for him.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was the cutest baby in the world, and he listened to every word that came out of her mouth so intently that Hermione couldn't help herself but to tell the tale of one infamous Harry Potter. She had started from their first year to tell the story and she never skipped even the tiniest details. Half of the story passed with Hermione badmouthing the ferret but it was a reality that her side of the story had Draco Malfoy starring as the antagonist too. She was careful how she cursed Malfoy though, she didn't want Tom picking up inappropriate words, but even with those restrictions, it was truly freeing to talk about her childhood. When her own tales finished, she read books to Tom and it was surprising to see that the Gaunts had a decent library regardless of their poverty. None of them apparently thought that some books in there could cost a fortune.

Oh well, their loss.

Hermione's head snapped with hooves coming to a stop close to her. The horse neighed and Hermione slipped from her train of thought to stare at the young man dismounting. He wore beige Jodhpurs, dark green waistcoat and knee high brown boots. His wavy hair was tousled because of the wind caressing it for the past hours as he rode his horse, and his cheeks were reddish as well because of the same reason. How long had it been since seeing him? If Hermione was right, roughly a year. He didn't look different, perhaps a bit more himself. His sinister smile showed his perfect white teeth for example, making Hermione's hands itch for her wand.

Morfin had been sent to Azkaban for hexing this man, Hermione didn't want the same fate for herself.

She was sitting on the grass. Young Tom was standing on her lap, one of his little hands grasping her left shoulder tightly as his other hand pointed to something far away, urging Hermione to look with him. Both of Hermione's hands grabbed the toddler's waist, preventing him from falling down. When Riddle Sr. came next to them, she couldn't help but pull young Tom to herself, hugging him tightly as she caressed his black locks.

"I wasn't expecting to see you around here," Riddle Sr. said, one hand holding on the horse's leash. There was a female laughter coming from far away with the sound of another horse.  _His companion_ , Hermione could guess.

Hermione was silent. She turned her face away and continued to play with young Tom. A few moments later, she heard the rustling of grass, and Riddle Sr. was seated next to her, too close for her comfort. His hand came into view to touch young Tom and Hermione did her best not to hide her baby away. This was his father; she didn't have the right to force them apart.

"Is this the little bastard?" Riddle Sr. said, his soft voice a contradiction with his insult.

"You were married to her at the time," Hermione retorted, but she knew it was futile. She figured she just liked correcting the man.

"Yeah, well, I'm not anymore," he said, still curiously holding his hand out for the baby. Young Tom grasped Riddle Sr.'s fingers just then. He wasn't looking at his father though, his curious eyes were locked with Hermione's.

"This is your father, Tom. He might be a silly man but he…" Hermione found herself at loss of words. She didn't think the man sitting next to her  _loved_  his son, and it would be lying to say something like that to the child. "...he will be around for some time. If you think he is tolerable, I think I can arrange play dates for you!"

Hermione did her best to ignore the man, but young Tom held onto him as though there was no tomorrow. And if that wasn't enough Riddle Sr. put his left hand on the grass behind Hermione and leaned forwards, half-trapping Hermione with his broad chest while his other hand held onto young Tom. If he was one drop more an obnoxious prat, he would have rested his chin on Hermione's right shoulder and that gesture would have painted a happy family picture regardless of how false it was.

"Dates sound lovely,  _Hermione_ ," he purred into her ear. Luckily Hermione stopped herself from shying away. That was not how she was going to get rid of this Casanova. She channeled to her inner-Parkinson and put a sly smile on her face just before she leaned to Tom Riddle Sr. to capture his lips.

The man had no shame and opened his mouth eagerly to play back, but Hermione was faster. Her tongue tasted him first and she dominated their quick dance, then just as abruptly as she kissed him, she pulled back. Young Tom's wails in the background was another factor that ended the kiss quicker, Hermione might have taken it longer if it weren't for him.  _Might have_.

It was satisfying to see Tom Riddle Sr. follow her lips in desperation as he panted like a wild animal.

Before Hermione could right herself, a hand pushed Riddle Sr.'s head persistently away. Hermione saw a crying young Tom's scrunched face, full of tears, as he angrily put a distance between his father and godmother. To help him with his quest, Hermione removed her hand which had at some point came to rest on the Riddle Sr.'s jaw. Between laughter, she wiped away young Tom's tears and put numerous kisses all over his smooth cheeks. As she whispered soothing words to him, the tomato redness of his face calmed and his cry turned into solely sniffing.

Having young Tom under control, Hermione's mirth surfaced as a snort. "He doesn't share, I think," Hermione mused to herself, not taking notice how Riddle Sr. was observing her.

When she knew it was time to take care of Riddle Sr., she was thanking Pansy Parkinson's unbelievably loud attitude as she was a great role model to take in such events.

"I apologize if I phrased it wrong. I'm booked for the next two months as my gardeners need  _special_  instructions," Hermione couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth and what they insinuated but she enjoyed how Riddle Sr.'s face contorted with anger. "But, I'd be delighted to give you and Tom 'father and son time' alone."

Riddle Sr. turned his face away and looked at young Tom who snuggled to his godmother's neck. If Hermione didn't know better, she would have thought what flashed in the Riddle Sr.'s blue eyes was jealousy.

He rose to his feet without a word when that female companion came into their sight riding her horse.

"Tommy! I can't believe I lost you!" she said and when her gaze met with Hermione's, she raised her nose in the air. "I had thought these  _filthy_  grounds were off-limits," she whined.

"Cecilia, sweetheart, I came to confirm Ms. Granger's acceptance to our humble invitation to dinner party," Riddle Sr. said. Hermione found herself at loss about what he was bullshitting about. "I'd be delighted to welcome you to my  _home_ this Friday."

Hermione didn't answer him. She diverted her attention to her dear young Tom and wished for the older one to disappear.


	3. Chapter 3

That week, Friday evening came too early. To Hermione's disappointment, the Riddles had sent a Ford on her doorstep. The henchman didn't take no for an answer. Hermione decided to ignore his presence, but that only lasted for an hour as she felt that her actions were cowardly and childish. Not to mention she pitied the henchmen for having him wait so long. Hermione Granger wasn't cruel.

In the end, she trusted baby Tom with Olly and quickly got ready.

She ended up wearing an off-shoulder long sleeved dress which swept the ground, its crimson colour praising Hermione's Gryffindor side. She finished the look with golden earrings while putting her hair up with a loose bun.

The henchman sighed in relief at the sight of her and rushed to her side to aid her climbing in the car. Having made the henchman happy, Hermione was half-way content with her decision to come.

The ride was short, the Gaunt's cottage and the Riddle's manor were closer than Hermione had realized. Having seen the Malfoy Manor, the Riddle's property didn't surprise Hermione, but she still was awed by the beauty of it. Before she could take in more of the house, the henchman hurried her to the door and she was immediately welcomed into the house. Apparently coming an hour late was not the politest thing for the invited to do.

Go figure.

When Hermione entered the ballroom where cocktail tables were scattered around, she counted twenty or so people in the room. Heads turned to her direction at her entrance and she felt a few disturbing glances on herself, it didn't help that she saw no familiar faces.

Just at that thought she noticed a head of neatly combed black hair. His dark blue eyes met with hers and Hermione returned his smile, surprisingly thankful that he wasn't acting like he didn't know her.

To Hermione's surprise, Riddle Sr. took long strides towards her in a heart beat, his bright smile on those lovely lips getting even wider.  _Lovely?_  Hermione guessed her judgement was clouded by their shared kiss from the other day.

"Finally!" he exclaimed and in the blink of an eye, Hermione's hand rested in the crook of his arm. "My dear Mother was asking about you, since I took the liberty of inviting you at the last minute," Riddle said. His shark grin made Hermione's face heat up, she also remembered his obvious intentions for tonight. She shouldn't have kissed him that time, giving him wild ideas.

Before Hermione could reply him, Riddle Sr. took her to where he'd just vacated, and introduced her to his family and a few associates.

She was silent for the most of the night, hanging in Riddle Sr.'s arm like a nice accessory. Hermione hated it. Being honest, that wasn't Riddle Sr.'s fault, though. He had even urged her to talk at the start of the evening whenever they entered new circles, especially asking her opinion once he felt like she was drifting into boredom. Hermione requested him politely to quit his antics, saying that she was indeed comfortable with observing. She couldn't speak her mind about the current politics with Riddle and the other guests anyway, afraid that she would slip a piece of information that was yet to happen. The females were discussing safer topics like fashion and charities, but Hermione didn't feel interested enough to contribute. In the end, her wandering mind pondered only on how tall Riddle was up close, and how kind he was in his own habitat. Vanished had the man Hermione had seen cursing back at the Leaky Cauldron, and here was a gentlemen capable of carrying out an intellectually above-average conversation. There was only one time that he had looked as though he would kill his father -that trait could be genetic, Hermione thought simultaneously- and that was when the old man had delved into the topic of his son's marriage prospects. If Riddle Sr. had been a wizard, his magic would have bursted out and knocked down the whole house at the mention of that woman, Cecilia.

Hermione had acted as though she hadn't noticed how Riddle Sr. rudely interjected his father and changed the topic of discussion.

Some time after that incidence, Riddle directed Hermione to dining room where everybody got seated and the evening continued over wine and food.

Hermione wasn't exactly complaining. Sitting next to Riddle wasn't that mundane. He would accidentally brush his arm to her own, bump his feet to hers under the table and occasionally ask if she wanted refreshment for her wine.

If it weren't for the wine, Hermione doubted she could play along with the embodiment of arrogance sitting next to her.

Tom Riddle Sr. divided his attention to three: his father, mother and her. He would be attentive to any questions his mother sent his way while actively discussing politics with his father. Hermione didn't know how Riddle did it, but all the while he attended to his parents, he would sneak glances at her, smile and ask for her attention full time. His social skills tired even her.

And she didn't understand why he was so keen on tiring her.

Hermione felt her cheeks heat because of that last thought- understanding it in a  _different_ way within seconds. She found herself gulping down the wine. Riddle had cocked an eyebrow at her questioningly but she deliberately didn't lock her gaze with his. She didn't want to talk to him.

"So, Mrs. Granger, is it? I was wondering what you were to Gaunts-"

"Ms. Granger, sir. I've never married," Hermione corrected the elder Riddle. She had been surprised to be addressed by him, but she quickly scolded her expression to one of indifference. "I'm Morfin and Merope's cousin, however distant."

"Huh. Never married? But how about your boy-" Mr. Riddle was saying, but before he could utter another sentence, Hermione murmured a Confundus charm at him, and covered it by coughing. She then sipped from her wine as the man asked: "Ummm, what-what exactly was I saying?"

"You were saying how such a lovely woman as Hermione could be the cousin of the Gaunts," Tom offered his father, shockingly coming to Hermione's aid.

With his son's lead, Mr. Riddle continued, "Yes, indeed. You are nothing like that family. I guess that's why you came, to help them. I'm afraid the cousin has arrived late, sweetling, the Gaunts are scattered. Broken!"

For the following ten minutes Mr. Riddle gave a trivia of the ancient family with only adjectives such as crazy, poor, unstable and filthy.

Hermione tuned out the elder Riddle, leaving him to his cruel way of boasting his richness. She turned to look at Tom Riddle Sr.. He was leaning to the back of his chair, playing with his wine glass while his attentions were solely on her. Upon realizing this, a shiver went down her spine.

Hermione Granger didn't understand what she had done to come into Riddle Sr.'s radar.

She felt herself the last kind of woman he would be attracted to. Yet that seemed to have been the case.

She was pretty in a different way- not every male's cup of tea. She was a bit on the shorter side, not the first choice of tall people like Riddle. She had a considerable fortune also thanks to her Order of Merlin, first class. However, hearing from the elder Riddle's chats from this evening, she doubted a person who owned the whole damn valley, including the village Little Hangleton, would be after her money.

Of course, there was the bit where Hermione had saved him from living a lie. But if falling in love had a condition of 'save the other person's life', the whole Britain should have fallen in love with her and married her already.

And by any chance all Riddle wished was to get in her knickers, then he had a new surprise coming for him. Wasn't Cecilia for that business, anyway?

Thinking about the woman and how Riddle Sr. had blown a fuse at the mention of her name, Hermione decided that having a roll with him was in order.

"Where is your sweetheart? Wait, what was her name… oh, right, Cecilia?" Hermione mocked Riddle in a quiet tone that wouldn't attract the attention of the other occupants of the table.

Riddle rolled his eyes. "You know how to ruin a mood."

"You know how to ruin a lovely Friday evening," Hermione bit back, secretly enjoying the banter while spitting her annoyance. She only met with the amused eyes of Tom Riddle.

"I'll make up for it," he said. He leaned toward her ever so slightly that their proximity couldn't be considered intimate but wasn't so innocent after all. He whispered, "Promise."

Hermione raised her brows at that. "Isn't that what Cecilia is for? If you need to have a woman in your bed that bad then go to her. I won't miss you,  _promise_."

Tom Riddle barked a laughter so joyous that Hermione was startled. The whole table stared at them. Hermione couldn't help but blush, she didn't like being the center of attention.

"Ms. Granger, you have one interesting sense of humour!" he commented to clear the shocked air. However, the thin fingers that grabbed her upper thigh under the table told another story. She wasn't even sure when his hand had moved there, it could have been welcome if it wasn't evident that he was less than pleased to have heard that last comment.

That moment Hermione wanted to get out of there. She didn't want to play Riddle Sr.'s games, she was tired of this whole mess and the fact that he was not forth coming with his intentions agitated her to no end.

She wanted to be  _home._

However, knowing that going back to her own timeline was not an option, Hermione wished for the alternative. She would go to Gaunt's Cottage, cuddle her Tom and fall asleep surrounded with his milk-like scent. Baby Tom would play with her curls and giggle at her just before sleep, making Hermione the happiest person alive for that moment.

Yes, she was going to leave. No need to make herself miserable. As it was, she wanted to cry. Or yell. Or heck, do both!

That's why she pushed her chair aside and excused herself. Tom Riddle rose to his feet with her and announced that he would escort her to see her safely home. Hermione was angry with him, but couldn't get herself to protest to an argument she was sure to lose.

The ride back to her house was silent but the atmosphere between the two of them was so thick with tension that it was nearly palpable. Hermione didn't know what was Riddle Sr.'s problem but he looked angry at her. Look at the chances, his feeling was mutual! It was as though they couldn't decide whether to kill each or fuck the daylights out of each other.

When they stood at the main doors of the cottage and Tom Riddle dipped his head, they decided to go with the latter.

Kissing him gave her a definite feeling of drowning, Hermione decided. She didn't dare to unlock herself from his lips to breathe; she didn't want to spend those precious seconds away from him. But his flesh on hers reminded Hermione of the reasons she hated him too. How he treated Merope, how he cursed his unborn child or how he teased her shamelessly...

She bit ferociously to his bottom lip, drawing blood. He winced but the moment she released him, he pressed his lips back to hers, forcing her to taste the blood she had drawn from him.

_Own for your choices_ , his actions yelled and that made Hermione even more furious.  _How dare he say to suck up your choices? It wasn't as though she wasn't!_

She Disapparated them to a guest's bedroom. If Tom Riddle Sr. was nauseated because of the magic, he didn't let on. Not that Hermione would care. She grabbed his shirt and ripped the first few buttons open, but her eager hands didn't stop there. One of her hands snaked around his neck to grab a hold of his silky black hair at the back of his head, and her other hand disappeared in the back of his shirt, her nails digging into his flesh.

Hermione hadn't realized that Riddle had grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his waist as Hermione had reached for his hair. That had helped her hold on to him as she pleased, but she didn't thank him.

She wouldn't thank him. He was the man who had left a baby all alone, never once caring what would become of his own son! He was the one who had shamelessly returned to his life, playing a lie with rich snobs, no remorse attached!

Then he came waltzing to their garden, ordered Hermione to come to dinner, intending to... what? Make her his?

She wanted to pluck every last strand of his perfect silky hair. He had left her alone in this! The baby was born whether Riddle Sr. had wanted it or not, and Hermione had been the only one to be there for it. Taking care of baby Tom has been hard, harder than Hermione could have guessed. Where had Tom Riddle been? Why hadn't he contacted?

Hermione could guess that Tom Riddle hadn't been living the best of his days ever since breaking free from that love potion. She also knew that she wouldn't be able to empathize with what he'd been through even if she desperately tried -he had been raped while being forced to comply by a potion that stripped him from his free will, for Godric's sake-, so Hermione was struggling to give him a choice (their hurtful arguments aside).

Had she had a choice?

At some point Hermione guessed she had had, but this didn't change the fact that she was alone shouldering it. Where was Harry? Ron? Ginny? Luna? Mrs. Weasley?

Hermione had no one. But it didn't have to be this way...

If only Riddle Sr. were to agree to be there for the baby!

Hermione had asked that question back at the Leaky Cauldron at least twice, getting rejected by Riddle Sr. Why would the arrogant git accept it now?

Her anger flared at the thought and Hermione pulled on Riddle's hair tighter, kissing him even more forceful. Kissing him cleared away her mind, Hermione liked that feeling. She liked the feeling of his lips on hers.

While they kissed, the more Hermione pulled his hair however, the more the man groaned and forced Hermione's head to stay close to his. His free hand supported her backside, but she felt his annoyance rise as he couldn't explore her skin as Hermione did his own. His shirt was already on the floor, and Hermione guessed that  _that_  meant one point went to her. Hermione Granger always kept track of scores.

She was winning.

That thought made her grin to his lips. Her amusement only triggered a much more feral growl from the man, and the next moment Hermione found her back on the soft mattress. The few seconds Hermione felt the cold air licking her flaring limbs thanks to Tom vacating his place between her legs, she Accio'd her wand and casted both silencing and locking charms on the door. She was done long before she heard the unbuckling of a belt and the sound of trousers hitting the floor.

Hermione didn't get to have the chance to take in Tom's appearance as his face crowded her vision immediately. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were no longer dark blue- they were simply black. A flash of contentment passed in his lustful gaze before his lips crashed down to hers.

Hermione raised her hands to grab either side of his face but she felt her hands delicately removed from his self. The way his tongue swept through her mouth cleared any thoughts in her mind, so she could only register that her arms rested above her head, held down by one hand on her wrists, when Tom broke the kiss for air.

Tom put his forehead against her, and they listened to each other's breathing while Tom's fingers ghosted over her bare skin on the inside of her thighs.

"You're a beautiful creature, angel," Tom whispered to her. Hermione's breath caught at the compliment and she craned her head up to catch his lips.

"Na-huh," Tom clicked his tongue, a smirk playing at his lips. "I can't seem to free you of this pretty dress. You are at fault that you didn't get rid of it before landing on the bed, so not-kissing is your punishment."

"You were the one to push me to the mattress. I'd say you are paying for your impatience," Hermione snarled, but when his nose prickled her cheek, then went down to the crock of her neck, she knew she was going to give in.

Hermione pressed her lips together, she wasn't going to moan regardless of the many kisses and nips Tom left on the line of her neck. Biting, tugging, licking… Hermione couldn't think anything but his lips on her neck for what felt like forever so she mewled in desperation for him to stop.

To her surprise Tom did.

"What? I couldn't hear you, lovely," he teased her.

Hermione glared at him but dropped her gaze to his lips. She whispered, "Kiss me."

"No ordering around," Tom warned her and continued, "I said the dress is getting in the way-"

Hermione cut his sentence by masterfully vanishing her dress with a silent and wandless spell. She wasn't the brightest witch of her age for nothing.

Tom smirked.

"Kiss me, now," Hermione needn't repeat herself as such, because Tom had already taken her breath away with a searing kiss.

Hermione Granger didn't remember much from then on. She was sure it wasn't because of the wine; she was drunk because of the man giving her such pleasures. She remembered Tom pistoning in and out of her while she chanted his name. She remembered him biting down her neck to the point that she shuddered with pleasurable pain. She remembered that he came with her name on his lips.

But most importantly -although the details were blurry- Hermione remembered well that they repeated this till the first rays of the sun.

* * *

Having arrived at his house, Tom Riddle Sr. had not anticipated facing the wrath of his parents. He was questioned, scolded, ridiculed for his scandal of running away with the poor and hideous maid who, after their running away to elope, had been quickly outed by the town's people as Merope Gaunt.

That first week of his arrival had been suffocating. His father had sealed this topic with one last question to his mother's dismay: "Is there a child?"

Riddle Sr. had fallen silent, not able to answer. At his reaction, his father had grunted but given him a court nod.

The next day Mrs. Riddle had explained in his father's words how their honor as a respectable family was on the line, and he had to fix this by agreeing to a proper marriage. Riddle Sr. hadn't been able muster enough strength to argue. His silence hadn't been acceptance, however his parents chose to interpret it exactly as that.

Every moment he shared with Cecilia that day onwards had been a nightmare. The woman used to be desperate to maintain his attentions, as he was known to have not only various but numerous _tastes_. That conversation with his mother had been a turning point for the young blond woman, Cecilia had from then on been more demanding and confident.

Tom blamed his mother for that; she and her weak resilience towards his father's wishes had irrevocably altered his life.

After what he had been through, the last thing Tom wanted was intimacy with another woman, be it physically or mentally. It took him months to recall his days with that freak and not feel the world caving in on itself. As if it was not enough that the memories that were carved into his skull, Riddle Sr. abhorred those feelings attached to them. He had never loved that bitch. Never had he worshipped her, adored her, or remotely liked her, although his memories told him otherwise.

Every fucking detail was so vivid that even a second spent pondering was enough to flare his inextinguishable anger.

If it were not for the curly haired young woman who had saved him -his angel- he would have been deliriously in love with that Gaunt whore still.

His angel, so beautiful yet fierce...

He hadn't been a gentlemen to her like she deserved. He hadn't been thinking at the time, his frustration making him talk. He had simply lost himself, unable express his gratitude.

Not a single day passed in which he stopped thinking about those caramel eyes staring at him with helplessness so great that he desperately reached out for his angel in his dreams. How much he wished to see her again! He would get to know her, woo her, and entrance her, so that he could have her attentions on him once again. She had been so kind to him. She had  _cared_  for him, expecting nothing in return! She had only thought about him as she had stood up for him. His angel had been so brave and selfless, putting him before her.

How he had deserved such behavior from her, Riddle could not fathom.

Before waking up to the reality of witchcraft, if anybody asked, he would have said he deserved everything because he was him. Women loved his money and looks, so he deserved to be pampered. He was Tom Riddle, heir to the fortune of Mr. Riddle, and he grew up thinking he deserved everything.

However, deserving Hermione Granger's attention and care because he was  _him_  had been something entirely different.

Riddle Sr. had been dejected every day knowing that it was near impossible to come across his angel again. He thought about her whenever his memories of being bewitched overwhelmed him, holding onto whatever he recalled from her -her crazy hair, smooth cheeks as he brushed away her tears, her laughter however cruel and mocking it had been during the time- and he somehow managed to pull through each day.

This was Riddle Sr.'s new reality. He struggled not to feel alien in his own skin, warred with foreign yet intimate memories invading his person and morosely waited for his marriage with Cecilia Hollins.

Roughly half a year had passed, Riddle Sr. had even picked up his old hobbies such as horse riding to fill his aimless days, when he heard of the oddest rumor. The morning he had sneaked into the kitchen barely earlier than the staff -he had been having troubles sleeping for months- he had eavesdropped on a conversation thanks to loitering around snacking. The maids fiercely gossiped about a new woman in town, who resided in the Gaunt's trash house. One of them said that the woman was a banker, here to collect the house now that it was empty, its residents dead and deep in debt. The other maid disagreed saying she had heard from elsewhere that the woman was a rich single lady from another town, having bought the land of those Gaunts.

Riddle Sr. hadn't given much thought to the gossip, only wondering what had happened to the last two residents of the house. He knew for sure that they weren't dead, Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt's deaths wouldn't have gone unnoticed by the town. Yet the family had been silent like a ghost for some time now. Not that Riddle Sr. would know.

He dismissed the thoughts, sneering in distaste to have wasted his time on this.

Another month passed uneventfully thanks to his decision to avoid Cecilia. The absence of the bitch was heavenly, he would occasionally relent to horse riding with her but Riddle Sr. had consorted to a new habit of speeding up to have her lose his tracks. Everything aside, it was becoming harder to postpone the wedding, making Tom ever the most grateful for living each day as a bachelor. He missed his angel even more those days, because truth was that he wouldn't have been single if she had been in his reach.

Imagine his surprise and excitement one day upon hearing from those very same gossiping maids that the new woman in town also had a baby with her.

A young woman with a newborn, living in the Gaunt's house. _Could it be..?_

That wild speculation was his spark of hope in these dark days, and Riddle Sr. was desperate to try this flimsy chance. He wanted to see his angel, know that she was real, and not a figment of his imagination.

Riddle Sr. could only muster his courage by the time the dinner for his and Cecilia's nuptials was on the corner.

It had been a sunny May in noon. Riddle Sr. had ridden his horse evasively and fast in order to lose Cecilia. He knew that it was futile. However a moment alone with his angel would be enough.

He had to take his chance. Saying that he was infatuated with his angel and not visit her when she was possibly so close to him would be the biggest mistake of his life. He wouldn't do that. He had nothing to lose, his life was torturous as it was.

He had been right to suspect. It was her. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her sun kissed skin glowed under the noon rays, her slender legs visible from her scandalous knee length sundress which revealed more than enough of her thighs. She was cross sitting, another reason for her revealing pose, and there was a baby in her lap, somewhat standing up thanks to her support.

She talked with the baby in a way that Riddle Sr. was positive the little guy wasn't understanding a word she said. His angel didn't seem to mind though. She changed her tone to 'baby-talking' whenever she saw the baby responding to her by opening his mouth or swinging his tiny hands in her hair. It could have sounded ridiculous to anyone else, but seeing his angel so merrily playing with the baby while she acted as though she was one herself, was utterly delectable for Riddle Sr. to watch.

Riddle Sr. dismounted from his horse so that he could join his angel. When he greeted Hermione, Tom hadn't been expecting to see her turn her face away and fall silent. He was aware of the hostility radiating off the woman, yet he couldn't fathom why...

When his angel continued to play with the baby, the reason hit him hard. The baby she was playing with...was his, wasn't it?

He felt the bile rising from his stomach as the memories shared with that retarded bitch rushed into his mind. He had been defiled! How blissfully unaware he was at the time! The worthless scum had poisoned him...

Growing sick of being haunted by these memories, Tom forced them out of his mind. He breathed heavily to contain himself, not wanting to surrender yet again and be trapped being the victim.

Afterwards, he shouldn't have opened his mouth before he was hundred percent sure that he was entirely in control of his emotions.

He helplessly watched as his angel's eyes lost their shine upon hearing his insult to the kid. He watched, unable to do anything to better it, as his angel warded herself from him.

He didn't let on his disappointment. He didn't let on his anger for screwing his chance.

He was overjoyed to have hidden those feelings as her pretty lips came crushing down on his. He was drunk in her taste, desperate to carry on kissing her even when she had pulled herself away. Perhaps he still had a chance?

When she righted herself, she told him that she wasn't interested. Her other lovers -gardeners as she claimed- took up her time. How the fuck could she have other men in her mind after kissing him like that? How could she have anyone else in mind while she was his? He would make her his. Fuck the gardeners!

_She apparently does exactly that_ , a mocking side of Riddle Sr.'s brain retorted.

As if that was not enough, Hermione let the kid snuggle him. Riddle Sr. should have been the one there, trailing kisses on her delicate neck while inhaling her scent to his lungs!

Riddle Sr. cleared his throat, realizing that his anger was getting the better of himself. Jealousy had never suited him, and being jealous of a baby was ridiculous. It was his baby, anyway.

_His_  baby.

The thought came down on him like a wave of cold water, extinguishing even the tiniest fire from his out-of-control feelings. His baby (Riddle Sr. would never associate that freak as the baby's mother; he rejected doing so) in his angel's arms, being cuddled by her as she mothered him...

Hermione Granger -his angel- already owned everything he had even if she was unaware: his money, his body, his mind, and his heart. She hadn't yet accepted him. However, Riddle Sr. realized now that Hermione had in fact accepted a small part of him -his child- and she looked perfectly content having the little guy.

If that was what she wanted, Riddle Sr. would oblige. For now.

He forced an invitation on her for the Friday's dinner. His angel had been silent, but he had other means to attain her presence. He first had to get rid of Cecilia, who had annoyed him further by ruining his conversion with Hermione.

That evening, returning to his house with Cecilia on his tow, Tom Riddle got involved in the greatest dispute he had ever had with his family. He called off the nuptial and watched in immense delight while the blond bitch crumbled down into a pool of tears, consoled by his own mother with rotten excuses that he was currently nuts.

The whole week Riddle Sr. didn't back down from his stance. Eventually his mother relented. She asked about the woman he had mentioned during their...disagreement as his mother put it, with whom Tom Riddle wanted to marry.

His father had known about Hermione too before she arrived to the dinner, not that it changed his decision of ignoring her most of the evening. Tom's mother, on the other hand, was delighted to see that his Hermione was indeed pretty. That red gown she had worn had been the talk of all the guests, gaining appreciative glances from every which way to Tom's utter disgust.

He wouldn't have minded of the admiration Hermione collected, if only she had declared herself his own!

Returning Hermione to her house, and getting the honor of discarding her gown however indirectly, had been his undoing.

Tom Riddle Sr. was in love with this woman. He loved his name on her lips, her arms caging him in, and especially he loved their perfect unison.

He was blessed to have found her.

* * *

"What do you want from me?" Hermione asked finally when she could get her wits back together. She had other questions as well but they had time. It was morning and Tom spooned her. The way he lazily kissed her exposed neck down to her shoulder while his free hand caressed her naked hip reassured her further that he was staying for a bit longer.

"Aside from similar nights like yesterday?" Tom teased her. His voice was hoarse just like hers because of newly waking up and a sore throat. They had screamed too much last night.

"Please. As if you could convince me to join you and Cecilia!" Hermione said. Tom stilled with his ministrations.

"There won't be Cecilia," Tom said with a finality that made Hermione think better than to force a fight with him.

"My question still stands," Hermione whispered. She was now unsure whether she wanted to hear the answer. It was not like the two of them had a romantic relationship. Hermione had to think of baby Tom first.

"I have baby Tom to think about," Hermione added before Riddle Sr. could say anything.

"The kid again," Riddle Sr. breathed out, but to Hermione's delight, he hadn't cursed the child. Yet.

_If he dares, I swear to Merlin, I will cut him limb by limb…_

He, then, added: "Just when I thought this was about us."

She ignored that last bit in favor of her sanity. She didn't want to think him falling for her. She wouldn't. Not yet.

"He is your son. I know that you didn't want to have him, but the fact is that he is born. He will grow to look exactly like you, like it or not," Hermione said firmly. "I don't know your intentions with me," Hermione added. She knew her mouth wasn't filtering what her brain randomly thought, but hell with it. She was a proud Gryffindor and saying her thoughts out loud was never a crime. "But no baby Tom means I'm out too."

Riddle's sudden tight grasp on her on hip made her gasp. "If it weren't for the kid you'd be only caring for me, angel…" he whispered in her ear. He was grinding to her backside, his hard member making itself known.

"I love how you care for me," he continued. "You helped me when no one did. It didn't take me long to realize that the daft innkeeper knew the situation as well. He didn't do anything. You did. You cared that I wasn't myself, that I was bewitched. You cared enough to bring me back home. You cared enough to talk to me about my child-"

Hermione felt the need to interrupt him. One of the reasons was that she had totally different reasons to doing the last two things he had mentioned. "Merope Gaunt loved you."

His hips stopped. Hermione hated to admit but she missed the friction immediately.

"She loved the me who was in love with her. I was  _never_  in love with her."

"I don't love you," Hermione whispered this time. It was true that the sex was more than nice, that she was attracted to him. But he was still the man who had turned his back on his child.

A small part of Hermione's brain protested again, as stubborn as herself: Wasn't he raped? He was fed love and lust potions repeatedly and his free-will on the act of making a baby was stolen from him. Wasn't it understandable that he wished to not see the child?

Hermione didn't doubt that Tom Riddle Sr. had been a heartless and ruthless arsehole towards Merope Gaunt because of her poverty, mental instability and obsession over him. But that didn't mean he deserved his fate. Wasn't that why she had saved him? Because it was the right thing to do?

Tom Riddle Sr. deserved better just as his son did. If he didn't want any association to baby Tom, Hermione could give him at least that. She would take baby Tom away, move out of Little Hangleton, and she would never contact Riddle Sr..

"But you don't hate me," Tom whispered to her ear, waking her out of her planning. That won a giggle from Hermione, making her forget her thoughts for a moment.

"Your standards are low, Riddle," Hermione teased him. She felt his lips tug upwards where they now rested on her bare shoulder.

"And you are attracted to me, to my dashing looks and pretty eyes…"

"...yeah well, don't give yourself too much credit," Hermione snorted. They stayed silent for minutes, Tom's arms snaking around her to get her close to him as much as physically possible.

Then he broke the silence with the most surprising statement Hermione had ever heard: "He will be our son."

Hermione was just about to say something or shriek in joy, but Tom's mumbling stopped her. He had hidden his face in her curls so his voice had sounded a bit muffled, but she heard what he said clearly nevertheless, and it broke her heart.

"I can't do it alone, angel- can't do it without you."

Hermione gasped. After gently squeezing Tom's hand, she wiggled in his arms to roll over. She wanted to see him, she wanted him to look her in the eye and repeat those sentences again.

"Say it again," Hermione demanded. Her fingers caressed his jaw and she urged him to speak up. However, the blue eyes that stared back at her were reserved and unwilling. His furrowed brows indicated that he was getting annoyed.

Hermione went with the first idea that popped in her head to ease his mind. She lurked in his arms even closer, placing her bare chest flush against his just before she reached to capture those lips that she had devoured hungrily over the course of last night.

She kissed him leisurely, as if promising him the time he needed to open up himself. He did eventually, unable to resist the playful nibbling, his lower lip swollen because of her undivided and enthusiastic attention. Finally, Hermione broke the kiss and looked at him with the widest puppy eyes she could manage, and whispered, "Please?"

There was a pause, but Hermione watched as Tom gave in.

"I'll raise the boy if you'll be there with me," Tom rephrased, an undertone of a question lying in his tone. His eyes were clouded with lust, and a twinkling Hermione hadn't noticed before mischievously winked at her. Also the smile on his kissed lips was twitching, not quite the widest smile he could have showed her.

Hermione, however, didn't think a second time about his rather odd behavior. She kissed him again, hard on his lips without deepening it, then her brightest smile cracked her face.

"Yes, of course, I'll be there for you and Tom," Hermione exclaimed. Truly happy that this time around Tom Marvolo Riddle would at least have one of his parents, that Tom Riddle Sr. was willing to step up for him. "He will need a loving father—I can't tell you how overjoyed I am that you-"

This time Tom cut Hermione's sentence, dipping his head to steal a sensual kiss from her. It did not only tingle her sore parts, but also left her aching for more. Yet, when Tom quickly moved away from her, he sat up straight in the bed.

"Then it's settled!" he declared, clapping his hands once. "I'll inform Mother that you agreed, and we can have the wedding in two weeks' time."

Only one word echoing in her ears, Hermione sat up after him.

"Wedding?" she shrieked, watching helplessly as Tom rushed around the room to get dressed.

"Yes, wedding," Tom agreed. He found his trousers and slipped in them without the need of his underthings. It hadn't been the easiest task Hermione observed, as the man's member was quite awake and hard. He didn't seem to mind. "Father won't be so pleased; he always wished a union between Cecilia and myself. Even now when I kicked the bitch out of our lives. He never gives up. Though, you could do that trick from last night! Remember how you confused father, as if he was charmed? That should work if he insists about Cecilia. He wouldn't understand right away, but he knows as well that I won't settle for anything less than the best. I'll change his mind about all that rich family crap, and once he gets to know you, and gets a taste of that witty humour of yours…"

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, wracking her brain to form a coherent sentence, but she found herself failing. At last she decided to take action and Accio'd clothes to dress herself.

Just when she put on her shorts that fell shy of the bottom hem of her shirt, Tom crossed to her in two long strides and caged her in his arms. One of his hands fell to her arse, and he cupped one cheek and pinched it. His devious smile reflecting the intentions of his restless hands.

"I'm blessed to have found you, angel," he said, then swallowed Hermione's gasp with a kiss so hot that her wetness was now impossible to ignore. "And to have captured your heart…"

Hermione was just about to protest to that last part, a stern expression crossing her face, however Tom's masterful hands had removed and two of his fingers were teasing her cunt. She shouldn't have dismissed wearing her knickers, not that thin lace could dissuade Tom Riddle Sr.. Hermione couldn't stop a mewl escaping her lips at Tom's ministration, but she lightly punched him in the chest—only way she could show her objection at the moment.

Tom's earthy laugh washed her ears, but Hermione gave herself into this masterful man nevertheless.

"I should perhaps fear you that you've done this to me without bewitching me," Tom teased her, his lips close to her outer ear, his hot breath tickling her. "What do you say, angel?"

Hermione warred with herself to not mutter a derivative of 'Fuck me' to the arrogant git in front of her, loving his slender hands very much at the moment.

"Ugh, you're unbelievable," Hermione managed to say at last.

Still, Tom's fingers kept playing with her and she found herself craving for that friction, not another protest leaving her lips.

Having noticed Hermione's surrender, Tom snaked an arm around her to lift her just enough while balancing her to the wall. Then he bit the junction of her right shoulder and neck, licking the sensitive skin afterwards to relieve Hermione of the abrupt pain. Knowing that it would leave yet another love bite on the petite woman, Tom Riddle Sr. smiled.

Listening to the her panting and incoherent sentences, which mostly contained his name and the name of some other being – Godric, with who he wasn't familiar, Tom unbuckled his pants again and entered her in one deep thrust.

"TOM!" Hermione shrieked, not expecting the intrusion amidst her climax. The cold pleasurable waves quickly left in their wake a blazing need, and Hermione found herself reviving her numbing arms to hold onto Tom again. She desperately wanted him to move, but instead Tom trailed wet kisses wherever he could find, giving time Hermione to adjust herself as well as beg him for her release.

"Please, Tom," Hermione mewled, clutching the hair at his nape for better emphasis. She could be desperate, but she was bordering on frustrated.

Tom chuckled, then kissed her on the lips, not wasting time to invade her mouth and taste her thoroughly. At that distraction, Hermione was again dumbfounded when she was vacated and filled to the hilt.

"Harder…fuck me…harder!" Hermione kept on repeating, and if Tom was surprised by her crass speech, especially for a lady in the 1920's, he didn't say anything. Hermione, while closing her eyes to the feel of him was deaf to a whole different chant pouring out of Tom's lips: "Yes, lovely! You're amazing. You feel so right, filled with me, clutching me so wildly. Yes, Hermione, love, yes, I will. My sweet angel, come, come for me!"

Hermione's shriek, indicating her release was immediately followed by a grunt from Tom, both were spent as they slowly slid down the wall to sit on the floor, still united.

Tom's arms relaxed and he let go of her so slowly that she wasn't sure whether to yell at him to let go already or to hold her again tightly. He kissed her on the forehead, not eager to wholly separate himself from her yet.

"How did I get myself into this?" Hermione muttered under her breath, not able to wrap her overachieving mind around this. She was satiated, happy at where she was in Tom's embrace, but still it was unbelievable. Her hands mindlessly caressed his chest while she thought about this.

Seeing Hermione deep in thought, Tom didn't lose time to answer her.

"You accepted my proposal to wed—"

"What proposal? No form of 'Will you marry me' came out of your mouth!" Hermione objected, gathering her wits quicker than a breath.

"And you were the one to say either the kid with you or not you at all," Tom countered Hermione who had rudely interjected his statement. Hermione noted how quick his change of sweet father-material to arrogant schemer was for future reference, but she couldn't actually blame him for his façade. Men in general hated to show any form of weakness. Also, Hermione had given that 'us or nothing' predicament herself.

Thinking that a marriage with Tom Riddle Sr. wouldn't be a total nightmare –not to forget that the sex was spectacular—Hermione found herself weighing down the options. Bringing up Tom Riddle Jr. on her own while possibly struggling with his deranged relatives, also there was the little problem of her not belonging to this time at all; and there was the other option of marrying Tom Sr., giving Tom Jr. a healthy family life while she herself could have a brand new beginning in this new era.

In the end the deciding factor was the squeeze in her heart whenever Tom Riddle Sr.'s dark blue eyes landed on her, the hungry way he devoured her form and the hopeful glint to them as they eyed each other.

Tom Riddle Sr. was a twisted man with flaws, however he deserved a second chance. The reason Hermione wasn't Obliviating the man this very moment was also due to Hermione's admiration of seeing him struggle for this chance.

Tom Riddle himself had sought her out when she resided in Little Hangleton. Although she had known young Tom's father was living in the same town, Hermione hadn't given Riddle Sr. that second chance by insisting him to take in his son. Furthermore, Tom Riddle Sr. had offered his hand for his son to grip when he had sat down next to Hermione last week; he was the one who kept the contact regardless of…ahem…distractions. Tom Riddle Sr. had constantly asked for her attention back at the dinner, not the other way around. He was the one to always struggle to have that second chance.

Now, he was dedicated to win her heart, it seemed.

And, interestingly enough, Hermione felt herself already losing.

* * *

Hermione had asked at one point to Tom whether he wanted her to Obliviate him, erasing his memories of Merope Gaunt. He had fallen silent and hadn't replied her for three whole days. In the end, he said that he didn't want to forget any event that led him to unite with Hermione. Ever since, they lived as a happy couple...more like almost happy.

"No one will call either of us 'Tommy'!" Tom Riddle Sr. snapped. This was the hottest discussion since Riddle Sr. realized his son replied to his wife whenever she called "Tom!" regardless of it being not addressed to him.

The married couple of three months were in their room, lying in bed. It was still early in the morning, so Tom Jr. was currently sound asleep, making the hours most appropriate for discussions.

"I'm not going to call him Marvolo," Hermione protested. "You must have met his grandfather. I haven't yet, but rumors are enough for me to know he is a horrible man. Not to mention that the name is outdated."

Tom Riddle huffed. "Tom is outdated as well," he countered but he knew that it was futile. His wife kissed him on the lips, a smile never vanishing from her beautiful face.

"You shouldn't have let Cecilia call you 'Tommy'. It wouldn't have left you with this trauma," Hermione teased her husband and got out from their bed to head off to the bathroom. She had to start the day sooner or later.

Tom groaned as she made her way to the bathroom.

She was brushing her teeth when the door was pushed open so abruptly that it made her shriek and her toothbrush to fall down in the frenzy.

"Tom Riddle, what do you think you are doing?!" she yelled at him after spitting the toothpaste to the sink.

"You are bleeding," Tom said. Hermione didn't understand what he was talking about. She hadn't spent time in the kitchen the past few days…

"I don't think I have a cut or something-"

"-No, don't be daft," he brushed her off which ticked her off. She crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow.

"Your monthly bleeding," Tom explained her and understanding dawned on Hermione.

"Sorry, did it appear on the bed sheets. I'll clean them-" Hermione started to say. She hated that she couldn't find good quality tampons in 1927.

"Why aren't you pregnant?" Tom cut in her rambling and this time Hermione Granger stared at his blue eyes while her mind couldn't form any coherent thoughts.

A minute passed where they didn't utter a word but stared into each other's eyes.

Then slowly Hermione asked: "Why should I be? I'm on potions."

This time it was Tom's turn to look at her with blank eyes. His thick brows furrowed when he finally made sense of what she had said.

"Are they some kind of-"

"-Contraceptive, yes," Hermione finished his sentence for him.

Tom dropped his gaze from her and cursed under his breath, then he left the bathroom. Hermione, ever the most dutiful and annoyed wife, followed him.

"What is wrong with you?" Hermione asked, but seeing anger flash in his eyes, she changed the question. "Did you want to have a baby?"

"YES!" Tom roared and startled Hermione, slightly because of his volume but mostly of his answer.

Well, bloody hell! How was she supposed to know that? Read his bloody mind?

She put aside the fact that she was a Legilimens, and focused solely on her husband's lack of sharing his 'plans'.

"How should I have known you wanted one?" Hermione shrieked.

"Why do you think we're shagging like rabbits?" Tom retorted.

"Oh, I don't know!" Hermione yelled this time, feeling her blood boil. "Because we want to? Because we're in love? Every damn reason aside from wanting a baby!"

Hermione's chest rose and fell, her furious gaze locked on Tom. She couldn't believe how daft he was! This wasn't how married people decided things!

Hermione stopped seeing red after some time, then realized that Tom bloody Riddle only blinked at her, his lips were pursed as if he'd swallowed something he wasn't expecting.

"Are you in love with me?" Tom asked, his voice merely above whisper.

Hermione felt her cheeks heating, so she countered with something else.

"Do you want a baby with me?"

They both answered when the silence became too much to bear: "YES!"

Before Hermione knew better, Tom's lips were on hers and his tongue down her throat. Well, she wasn't complaining.

He broke apart to tell her, "We're not naming it Tom."

Hermione smiled to his lips. "Fine, but I'm not calling Tom, Marvolo."

He kissed her again. "We'll think of something. And you taste like toothpaste, you know that?"

Hermione smacked his arm. "I wonder why."

In a smooth movement, Hermione was being carried bridal style and not much later, she was on the mattress.

"Tom, I'm on my period!" Hermione yelled playfully.

"Doesn't mean we can't have fun," Tom replied. "When will that potion of yours lose effect, darling?"

Before Hermione could answer him, she was lost in the feel of his lips.

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle took a last look at himself in the full length mirror, making sure his new dark green formal robes were perfect for the evening's announcement. He wished his blackest hair from his youth to finish the touch, but alas, growing age left him with little choice.

However, he would be reborn after his death, having mastered immortality through his research of Phoenixes enabling him just that.

Knowing that he would get an endless chance to observe his looks in every age endless times, Riddle didn't wail over such trivialities. Yet, at days such as these, he acknowledged the benefit of Horcruxes if done right.

Headmaster Riddle dismissed the thoughts and walked away from the mirror, at the turn of his steps, he Dissapparated.

Making a rather loud entrance, which only gave the slightest glimpse to his magical abilities, Headmaster Riddle cleared his throat, a charming smirk on his face.

His eyes saw fresh youth, brave and lively, cheering him at the sight of him. The children, ages varying from eleven to eighteen greeted their headmaster with such enthusiasm that Headmaster Riddle's pride in his students grew as if possible.

This was what he always wanted, or rather, needed: followers, underlings, trainees. His students.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Headmaster and Founder of Amoiencia School of Sorcery, the Great High Warlock of Britain and Heir to the Great Salazar Slytherin.

The old wizard was very much alive, his past pseudonym Lord Voldemort buried with his mother Hermione Riddle and his future unending as well as bright due to his limitless knowledge of magic light and dark.

The man cleared his throat once again, and taking a side glance at their guests, he started to speak.

"Gathering at yet another Triwizard Tournament, I'm proud that the honour for hosting such a glorious event in Britain has been bestowed upon Amoiencia School of Sorcery," Headmaster spoke, his blue eyes meeting with another pair which was clouded behind round glasses. Riddle knew that stealing the spotlight just under Albus Dumbledore's nose had been even the more satisfactory.

"We'd like to welcome our fellow wizards and witches, coming from close to home or far away! Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are the participating schools…"

This was Tom Marvolo Riddle's reality, his world and accomplishments. By choosing to send Hermione Granger away, he had confirmed yet again that he owed this life to his dear mother.

His dear mother who had changed everything for him, her friends, her dreams and her life! She had done everything just for him. She had loved him, cared for him.

He loved her with all his heart. She had been his mother; only his, no matter his siblings and father.

Giving him everything he ever wanted –including helping to build this very school—Hermione Riddle had given him the means to accomplish everything and anything his heart desired.

He blinked and his mind flashed to a picture of a monument in the atrium of the Ministry. It was a larger than life statue of him, standing in victory. And under his feet were the souls of the inferior, shouldering the weight of his triumph. His Ministry functioning with the alumni of his school, the students he himself raised to serve him. Such contentment! Wizarding Britain only ruled by those of superior magical abilities.

He would do it to make his mother proud, to honor her spirit and pay homage to her magical supremacy.

Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn't going to let his mother down.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, finished!
> 
> Thank you all again for reading this story, following and/or reviewing! I hope you've enjoyed it. I'm proud to finally have a completed story on my profile.
> 
> SEE YOU AT ANOTHER STORY!
> 
> -Ydream08


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